i 


'You  come  a  step    nearer,  and  I'll  show  you  how  I  shoot. 


THE 


Heart  of  the  People 


A  PICTURE  OF  LIFE  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY 


BY 


J.  R.  ABARBANELL 

Author  of  "  The  Wife  of  Monte  Cristo" 
"The  Rector's  Secret,"  "Flirtation," etc. 


THE  C.  M.  CLARK  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS 
1908 


Copyright,  1908, 

by 

THE  C.  M.  CLARK  PUBLISHING  CO., 

Boston,  Massachusetts, 

U.  S.  A. 


Ail   Rights   Retervtd. 


WHO  TRIED   TO   SHOW   THE   WAY  OUT 


2134106   ' 


The  heart  of  the  people  beats  fondly  and  true, 
The  heart  of  the  people,  which  means  me  and  you ; 
Oh,  let  not  that  heart  be  broken  in  twain, 
Oh,  give  it  just  cause  to  be  joyful  again. 

The  heart  of  the  people,  oh,  fill  it  with  love, 
The  love  that's  the  essence  of  God  up  above ; 
Then  with  joy  it  will  throb,  your  heart  and  mine, 
With  joy  that's  eternal,  celestial,  divine. 

AGNES  MERRIHEW. 


CONTENTS 

Frontispiece 

CHAPTBR  PAGE 

I.    THE  VICTIM i 

II.    THE  CAREER  OF  A  SELF-MADE  MAN 13 

III.  Two  QUEENS  OF  SOCIETY 26 

IV.  MRS.  VAN  AND  THE  MARQUIS 39 

V.    THE  HEIR'S  RETURN 52 

VI.    A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST 65 

VII.    THE  SOGGARTH  AROON , 80 

VIII.    A  PRODUCT  OF  POLITICS 94 

IX.    AN  ANGEL  OF  THE  SLUMS 104 

X.    A  MODEL  RESCUE  HOME 115 

XL    FACE  TO  FACE 127 

XII.    THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STRIKE  i 139 

XIII.  THE  ESCAPE 152 

XIV.  THE  DISCOVERY 166 

XV.    ARRAIGNED 179 

XVI.    ON  THE  BRINK  OF  A  PROPOSAL 192 

XVII,    A  VISIT  TO  THE  HOME 204 

XVIII.    MRS.  VAN'S  FREAK  PARTY 217 

XIX.    THE  TRIAL 229 

XX.    LEGALLY  INSANE 243 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI.    THE  NEW  HAROLD 253 

XXII.    A  MARRIAGE  IN  SOCIETY 263 

XXIII.  THE  DECLARATION  OF  A  NEW  INDEPENDENCE  273 

XXIV.  DRIVEN  TO  HER  DOOM  283 

XXV.    DECOYED 293 

XXVI.    A  NOBLE  SACRIFICE 305 

XXVI I.    A  BATCH  OF  LETTERS 314 

XXVIII.    MORE  LETTERS  FROM  GLADYS 325 

XXIX.    LEAVES  FROM  GLADYS'  JOURNAL 338 

XXX.    THE  ONE  THING  PRECIOUS 346 


The  Heart  of  the  People 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  VICTIM 

pRISONER  at  the  bar,  what  have  you  to  say 
why  sentence  of  death  should  not  be  imposed 
on  you?" 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  a  sunshiny  day  in  au- 
tumn not  so  many  years  ago,  when  these  solemn 
words  were  addressed  by  the  Recorder  in  the  Court 
of  General  Sessions  of  the  City  of  New  York  to 
the  prisoner,  who  had  just  been  convicted  of  mur- 
der in  the  first  degree. 

Without,  there  was  the  busy  hum  of  the  streets; 
men  and  women  went  about  their  daily  vocations, 
stopping  occasionally  to  glance  up  at  the  new  Crim- 
inal Courts  Building,  just  then  recently  opened,  and 


2  THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

to  exchange  comments  about  this  very  murder  case, 
which  was  the  sensation  of  the  hour.  Newsboys  were 
darting  hither  and  thither,  crying  the  latest  "Ex- 
tras," which  already  spread  the  news  in  glaring  let- 
ters printed  in  blood-red  ink  of  "Found  Guilty!" 
And  above  all,  the  bright  sun  shone,  and  the  fresh  au- 
tumn breeze  swept  through  the  streets,  bringing 
with  it  the  scent  of  the  salt  sea  waves  from  the 
harbor  and  the  perfume  of  late-blooming  flowers 
from  the  fields  of  Long  Island.  In  the  roadway 
the  sparrows  chirped  and  twittered;  disturbed  by 
passing  car  or  wagon,  they  rose  in  a  swarm  and, 
happy  in  their  own  free,  joyous  life,  flocked  to  the 
windows  and  eaves  of  the  stately  building  in  which 
a  man  was  being  condemned  to  death. 

In  the  crowded  court  a  tense  stillness  reigned,  in- 
stead of  the  noise  and  confusion  which  had  come 
from  the  corner  where  a  group  of  hard-visaged  men 
sat.  When  the  jury  came  in,  these  men,  whose  at- 
tire and  hardened,  sinewy  hands  proclaimed  them 
workers  in  some  foundry,  cast  significant  glances  at 
each  other,  muttering:  "It's  all  up  with  Jack."  "I 
told  you  so."  "If  it  had  been  the  young  boss  now 
that  was  a-bein'  tried,"  etc.,  etc. 


THE  VICTIM  3 

"Order  in  the  court !"  shouted  the  crier,  and  the 
Recorder  rapped  heavily  on  his  desk  with  his  gavel. 
This  brought  the  mutterings  to  an  end,  and  the  work- 
men contented  themselves  with  gazing  at  the  pris- 
oner and  the  group  of  women  whom  morbid  curiosity 
had  attracted  to  this  sad,  tragic  scene.  Among 
them,  a  young  girl,  shabbily  attired,  was  trying  to 
hide  her  pale,  drawn  face  in  an  old  shawl.  Occa- 
sionally she  peered  out  between  its  folds  at  the  ac- 
cused with  the  eyes  of  one  suffering,  who  beholds 
a  newer,  more  terrible  sorrow. 

The  rest  of  the  great  throng  of  spectators  rustled 
into  silence,  as  they  ordinarily  do  when  the  cur- 
tain rises  at  a  theater,  while  the  reporters  at  the 
press-table  sharpened  their  pencils  and  got  ready 
to  make  history  of  the  occurrence. 

And  thus  the  drama  had  proceeded  with  only  a 
single  gasping,  half-suppressed  interruption  of  "Oh, 
my  God!"  from  the  young,  shabbily  dressed  girl 
when  the  foreman  of  the  jury  uttered  the  ominous 
word  "Guilty."  And  now,  after  a  hurried  colloquy 
with  his  attorneys,  who  seemed  to  be  dissuading 
him,  the  prisoner,  who  had  been  standing  facing 
the  judge,  prepared  to  answer  the  momentous  ques- 


4  THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

tion  why  he  should  not  be  placed  in  the  electric 
chair  at  Sing  Sing. 

His  lawyers  shrugged  their  shoulders  at  his  de- 
termination. They  had  been  assigned  to  his  defense 
by  the  court,  and,  having  in  a  perfunctory  sort  of 
way  done  their  duty  by  him,  sat  down  and  left  him 
standing  alone  to  meet  his  fate. 

Jack  McQuillan,  the  prisoner,  as  he  stood  there 
facing  the  Recorder,  was  a  young  giant  of  about 
twenty-one  years,  with  arms  and  limbs  which  even 
in  the  ordinary  work-day  garb  he  wore  betokened 
the  extraordinary  muscular  development  of  one  ac- 
customed to  hard  physical  labor  all  his  life.  The 
District  Attorney  during  the  trial  had  referred  to 
him  as  "the  embodiment  of  brute  strength."  He 
was  indeed  a  modern  Samson;  it  was  the  power  of 
his  muscular  arms  and  brawny  hands  that  had  put 
him  in  the  shadow  of  the  electric  chair. 

His  round,  clean-shaven  face  was  crowned  with 
reddish-brown  hair  and  otherwise  beautified  by  eyes 
of  Irish  blue;  but  his  countenance  bore  out  the  im- 
pression of  strength  rather  than  the  intelligence 
which  even  a  common  school  education  gives. 

That  face  was  working  now  with  emotions  that 


THE  VICTIM  5 

made  his  powerful  chest  heave  like  a  pair  of  bellows ; 
emotions  which  by  the  advice  of  his  counsel  had 
been  pent-up  during  the  trial,  but  which  were  now 
struggling  to  be  released,  while  his  blue  eyes  sought 
the  stern,  impassive  face  of  his  judge  with  a  look 
in  them  of  puzzled  wonderment  and  some  indig- 
nation, but  no  fear. 

"Your  Honor,"  he  began  in  a  voice  whose  rugged 
accent  made  it  sound  like  the  low  growl  of  a  wild 
animal,  "my  lawyers  wanted  me  to  keep  my  mouth 
shut,  sayin'  it  warn't  no  use  nohow,  as  ther  jury 
had  brought  in  ther  verdic'  an'  seein'  Your  Honor 
couldn't  do  no  less  than  send  me  ter  ther  'lectric 
chair.  Well,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  s'pose  I  can  meet 
me  fate  like  a  man,  for  Jack  McQuillan's  never  yet 
flinched  in  his  life." 

There  was  a  slight  ripple  of  applause  in  the  court- 
room at  this  point,  which  was  instantly  checked  by 
the  court  crier.  Then  the  prisoner  continued : 

"However,  what  I  was  goin'  ter  tell  yer,  if  yer'll 
let  me  have  me  say,  Your  Honor,  is  that  I  never 
meant  ter  kill  ther  dago.  I  only  giv'  him  a  grip 
'round  ther  neck,  thinkin*  ter  quiet  him  like,  but 
ther  man  died  in  me  hands  like  he  was  a  sick  kitten, 


6  THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

which  if  he  were  sickly-like  I  didn't  know  it,  Your 
Honor,  an'  seein'  as  how  my  hands  has  more 
strength  than  I  giv'  'em  credit  for,  an' " 

"I  do  not  care  to  listen  to  all  this,"  interrupted 
the  Recorder  in  cold,  measured  tones.  "All  that  was 
fully  gone  into  at  the  trial,  and  your  counsel  have 
done  all  they  could  for  you.  The  fact  of  the  killing 
being  established  and  conceded  by  you,  criminal  in- 
tent does  not  enter  into  this  case.  At  the  time  of  the 
commission  of  the  murder  you  were  engaged  in  an 
unlawful  act.  You  and  your  fellow-workmen  were 
on  a  strike  against  the  establishment  where  you  and 
they  had  been  employed.  You  tried  by  force  and 
violence  to  prevent  the  Italian  from  entering  the 
works  to  procure  the  situation  which  you  had  volun- 
tarily quitted.  It  was  an  unlawful  act  for  you  to 
do  this,  and  the  moment  you  laid  violent  hands  on 
the  deceased  you  committed  a  crime,  which  became 
murder  in  the  first  degree  in  this  case.  Have  you 
anything  else  to  say?" 

"I've  got  nothin'  ter  say  except  that  I  didn't  mean 
ter  kill  ther  dago,"  rather  gloomily  and  de- 
spondently replied  the  prisoner. 


THE  VICTIM  7 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Recorder.  "Then  I  will 
listen  to  your  counsel." 

The  defendant's  attorneys,  as  in  duty  bound,  made 
various  motions  in  arrest  of  judgment,  all  of  which 
were  denied  on  the  spot,  as  they  knew  they  would 
be. 

After  that  the  silence  in  the  courtroom  became 
profound  and  painful.  The  young  girl  in  the  shabby 
attire  arose  from  the  bench  on  which  she  had  been 
sitting  and  convulsively  pressed  her  hands  against 
her  bosom  to  stifle  the  cries  that  were  forcing  them- 
selves to  her  lips.  The  crucial  moment  had  arrived. 

"Prisoner  at  the  bar,"  began  the  Recorder  in  tones 
whose  cold  impassivity  sent  an  icy  chill  through  the 
hearts  of  all  who  heard  him,  "you  have  had  an  emi- 
nently fair  and  impartial  trial.  Your  counsel, 
though  assigned  to  your  defense  by  this  court,  la- 
bored as  arduously  and  as  conscientiously  in  your 
behalf  as  if  they  had  been  retained  with  the  promise 
of  a  large  fee.  After  hearing  all  the  evidence,  and 
after  due  deliberation,  the  jury  found  you  guilty,  as 
charged  in  the  indictment.  I  wish  to  take  this  op- 
portunity of  publicly  thanking  the  jury  for  the 
promptness  with  which  they  found  the  verdict.  They 


8  THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

were  out  less  than  half  an  hour,  which  shows  that 
they  must  have  been  practically  unanimous  in  their 
judgment.  In  so  acting  they  have  performed  a  meri- 
torious public  service  in  these  times  of  labor  riots, 
which  eventually  lead  to  bloodshed  and  murder,  as  it 
has  done  in  this  case." 

At  this  point  the  Recorder  paused  in  his  exhorta- 
tion to  bow  to  the  jurymen,  who  had  remained  seated 
in  the  jury-box,  eager  to  witness  the  concluding  act 
in  the  drama  in  which  they  had  been  part  perform- 
ers. The  twelve  "peers  of  the  realm"  returned  His 
Honor's  bow,  each  with  a  self-satisfied  smirk  on 
his  smug  visage. 

The  group  of  workingmen  already  alluded  to 
watched  this  by-play  with  sullen  countenances. 

"Jack  never  stood  no  show  with  that  sort  of  jury," 
muttered  one  of  the  men. 

"Yer  right,  Bill,"  assented  another.  "It's  ther 
under  dog  allus  gets  it  in  ther  neck." 

The  Recorder  must  have  heard  these  remarks,  for 
he  turned  his  keen  eyes  toward  the  speakers  and, 
having  awed  the  group  of  toilers  into  silence  with  a 
glance,  continued  in  a  sharper  voice  than  he  had 
heretofore  used : 


THE  VICTIM  9 

"This  court,  as  long  as  I  am  Recorder,  will  up- 
hold the  majesty  of  the  law,  and  will  sternly  set  its 
face  against  all  violators  of  the  public  peace.  Let 
all  who  are  therein  concerned  take  note  of  and  warn- 
ing from  the  fate  to  which  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
has  virtually,  by  his  own  misguided  acts,  condemned 
himself.  The  law  concedes  the  right  of  any  man  or 
any  set  of  men  to  decline  to  work  for  an  individual 
or  a  corporation.  They  may  do  so  if  they  feel  ag- 
grieved for  any  cause,  or  for  no  cause  at  all.  But 
their  liberty  of  action  extends  no  further  as  far  as 
their  relations  to  their  former  employer  are  con- 
cerned. Their  voluntary  act  makes  the  positions 
they  have  left  vacant,  and  any  person  has  the  lawful 
right  to  apply  to  the  employer  to  fill  these  places. 
For  a  striker  to  prevent  such  a  person  from  exercis- 
ing this  right  is  to  put  himself  out  of  the  pale  of 
the  protection  of  the  law — he  becomes  an  outlaw. 
Of  what  follows,  then,  you  are  witnesses.  These 
are  elementary  and  well  understood  principles  of 
the  law,  but  I  have  stated  them  for  the  benefit  of 
some  persons  in  this  courtroom  who  may,  perhaps, 
be  deemed  ignorant  of  them." 

Having  delivered  this  shot  at  the  group  of  men  for 


io    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

whom  it  was  intended,  the  Recorder  again  turned  to 
the  prisoner,  who  all  this  while  was  standing  in  a 
dejected  attitude,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor, 
ready  to  receive  his  sentence. 

"John  McQuillan,"  solemnly  said  the  judge,  "you 
have  been  found  guilty  of  murder  in  the  first  degree. 
The  penalty  for  that  crime  is  fixed  by  statute,  and 
nothing  remains  for  me  to  do  but  to  pronounce  it." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  cleared  his  throat. 
The  prisoner  raised  his  eyes  and  gazed  fixedly  at 
him.  His  face  was  pale,  but  the  only  agitation  he 
showed  was  the  convulsive  gripping  with  his  right 
hand  of  the  burnished  copper  railing  against  which 
he  stood. 

"The  sentence  of  this  court  is,"  continued  the  Re- 
corder, "that  you  be  taken  hence  and  kept  in  close 
confinement  until  the  first  week  of  next  November, 
when,  on  a  day  to  be  fixed,  you  be  placed  in  the 
electric  chair  at  the  prison  in  Sing  Sing  and  an  elec- 
tric current  be  discharged  into  your  body  until  you 
are  dead." 

The  condemned  man  bowed  his  head  as  a  token 
that  he  had  heard  his  sentence. 
:     "The  prisoner  will  be  taken  to  the  Tombs,"  or- 


THE  VICTIM  ii 

dered  the  judge,  "thence  to  be  conveyed  to  Sing 
Sing.  This  court  stands  adjourned." 

Instantly  a  great  bustle  and  confusion  arose.  The 
spectators  rushed  out  into  the  aisles,  the  workingmen 
crowded  forward  for  a  last  greeting  to  their  com- 
rade. The  sheriff  motioned  to  two  policemen,  who, 
stepping  up,  ranged  themselves  on  each  side  of  the 
prisoner.  The  march  back  to  the  cell  from  which 
he  had  been  taken  to  the  courthouse  was  begun. 

As  the  condemned  man  stepped  into  the  aisle,  the 
shabbily  dressed  girl  pressed  forward  in  the  throng, 
and  rushed  toward  him  with  outstretched  arms. 

"Oh,  Jack!  Jack!"  she  cried,  then  fell  at  his  feet 
in  a  swoon. 

"Who  is  that  woman  ?"  asked  the  Recorder,  paus- 
ing as  he  was  about  to  leave  the  bench. 

"It's  only  me  sister  Maggie,  Your  Honor,"  re- 
plied the  prisoner,  as  he  stood  gazing  sadly  down 
at  her. 

A  middle-aged  man  in  priestly  gart>  pushed  his 
way  forward,  and,  sinking  on  one  knee  beside  the 
fainting  girl,  raised  her  head  in  his  arms. 

"  'Tis  the  Soggarth  Aroon,"  ran  a  murmur  through 


12          THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

the  courtroom.  Those  who  had  already  covered 
their  heads  removed  their  hats,  and  all  stood  with 
heads  bowed  as  if  in  prayer. 


CAREER  OF  A  SELF-MADE  MAN      13 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  CAREER  OF  A  SELF-MADE  MAN 

HP  HE  Armytage  Printing  Press  Works,  at  which 
•*•  the  strike  which  led  to  such  deplorable  results 
had  occurred,  were  situated  in  the  city  of  New  York, 
and  were  probably  the  largest  in  the  country,  with 
their  immense  buildings  and  foundries,  under  the 
roofs  of  which  two  thousand  men  and  boys  toiled 
nine  hours  each  working  day  for  their  own  wages 
and  the  profit  of  their  employer. 

As  wages  went,  the  employees  were  fairly  well 
paid.  The  "shop,"  as  it  was  familiarly  called  by  the 
men,  was  a  "Union"  establishment.  The  "Union" 
regulated  the  prices  paid  to  labor,  the  hours  of  work, 
the  question  of  apprentices,  and  all  the  other  snags 
that  in  other  factories  impede  the  ship  of  industry, 
if  they  do  not  convert  it  into  a  wreck.  In  fact,  it  was 
an  establishment  to  which  the  Labor  Unions  pointed 


14    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

with  pride  as  to  what  could  be  accomplished  under 
the  system  of  Trade  Unionism ;  while  its  founder, 
James  Armytage,  during  his  lifetime,  proudly  boasted 
of  the  fact  that  his  men  had  never  gone  on  a  strike. 
That  the  works  from  a  very  humble  beginning  had 
kept  on  increasing  until  they  represented  several 
millions  of  dollars  in  capital,  and  that  James  Army- 
tage, who  had  landed  on  these  shores  from  England 
without  a  dollar  in  his  pocket,  died  worth  about  four 
millions,  while  his  employees,  some  of  whom  had 
been  with  him  from  the  day  he  constructed  his  first 
press,  in  spite  of  their  "Union"  wages,  had  never 
been  able  to  save  more  than  a  pittance  at  the  best 
from  their  weekly  pay — this  was  a  matter  that 
neither  the  employer  nor  the  Trades  Union  seemed 
ever  to  have  considered. 

James  Armytage  had  learned  his  trade  of  press 
builder  in  his  native  land,  and  although  on  landing 
on  these  shores  his  pockets  were  empty,  still  he  had  a 
trade  which  fifty  years  ago  was  practically  in  its  in- 
fancy in  this  country.  After  working  five  years  for 
others,  he  had  saved  enough  from  his  wages  to  begin 
in  a  small  way  to  build  presses  on  his  own  account. 
He  was  able  to  save  because  he  was  then  a  strapping 


CAREER  OF  A  SELF-MADE  MAN       15 

young  fellow  of  twenty,  without  kith  or  kin  depend- 
ing on  him  for  support  and  naturally  of  a  thrifty, 
not  to  say  miserly,  disposition.  The  condition  of  the 
country  in  that  far-off  time,  too,  was  so  far  different 
from  what  it  is  to-day  that  it  required  little  or  no  cap- 
ital for  the  man  otherwise  qualified  to  establish  him- 
self in  business.  He  had  also  perfected  and  patented 
some  valuable  improvements  which  soon  gave  his 
presses  a  preference  over  others. 

Five  years  later  Mr.  Armytage  was  obliged  to  in- 
crease his  establishment  by  the  addition  of  a  new 
building  which  he  erected  next  to  the  little  edifice  in 
which  he  had  begun  operations,  and  to  which  he  was 
accustomed  to  point  with  pride  as  "the  cradle  of  my 
institution,  sir,"  until  it  was  ultimately  torn  down 
with  other  buildings  to  make  room  for  the  huge 
series  of  buildings  which  constituted  the  present 
works. 

Thus  the  Armytage  Printing  Press  Works  had  its 
origin  and  thus  the  "Institution,"  as  Mr.  Armytage 
delighted  to  call  it,  grew  to  its  present  greatness. 
Nor  did  he  neglect  what,  from  his  point  of  view,  he 
considered  his  "duty"  to  those  whom  he  regarded  as 
dependent  on  him  for  their  daily  bread  and  butter, 


16         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

As  his  wealth  increased  he  established  a  technologi- 
cal school  where  his  apprentices  could  perfect  them- 
selves in  the  mechanical  details  of  his  business ;  one 
room  was  devoted  to  a  reference  library  for  books 
and  papers  pertaining  to  his  own  and  affiliated  trades 
for  the  use  of  his  men,  and  another  was  converted 
into  a  bathroom  with  a  fine  plunge  bath,  so  that 
when  almost  overcome  from  the  heat  in  the  foundry, 
the  men  could  take  a  refreshing  and  reviving  plunge 
in  the  cold  water  and  thus  be  able  to  continue  work 
for  their  mutual  benefit.  Mr.  Armytage  also  de- 
clared that  no  man  in  his  employ  should  lose  his 
wages  through  absence  from  work  on  account  of 
sickness  of  himself  or  in  his  family — a  promise 
which  he  scrupulously  kept. 

Besides  this  he  was  a  liberal,  even  generous,  con- 
tributor to  many  public  charities,  a  patron  of  libra- 
ries, hospitals,  and  institutions  of  fine  arts — so  much 
so  that  when  he  died  it  was  in  an  odor,  if  not  of  sanc- 
tity, of  at  least  philanthropy,  and  the  papers  gen- 
erally chronicled  his  decease  as  that  of  a  foremost 
citizen  and  a  public  benefactor. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  nearly  forty  years  of  age 
and  a  millionaire  that  James  Armytage  felt  that  he 


CAREER  OF  A  SELF-MADE  MAN       17 

could  afford  the  luxury  of  domestic  ties.  In  person 
he  was  undersized  and  portly;  his  face  was  inclined 
to  be  round  and  beefy;  his  head  was  partly  covered 
with  a  sparse  fringe  of  tow-colored  hair;  under  his 
bushy  eyebrows  peered  forth  a  pair  of  watery,  light- 
blue  eyes.  His  short,  thick-set  legs  were  inclined 
to  be  bowed — "bandy-legged,"  some  of  his  own  ir- 
reverent apprentices  called  it — while  his  large,  un- 
gainly hands  bore  the  impress  all  his  lifetime  of  those 
earlier  days  when  he  himself  worked  at  the  forge. 

While  a  master  of  his  trade  he  often  lamented  his 
lack  of  an  education  and  did  not  trust  himself  to 
compose  his  own  business  letters.  But  in  this,  as  in 
other  respects,  he  laid  it  down  as  a  maxim  that  you 
could  hire  brains  as  well  as  muscles,  and  he  had  the 
shrewdness  to  employ  the  best  of  private  secretaries 
as  well  as  the  cleverest  of  heads  of  departments  and 
general  managers.  In  spite  of  every  effort  he  made 
to  correct  himself  of  the  habit,  he  would  occasionally 
lapse  into  his  native  Cockney  dialect,  dropping  his 
"h's"  and  adding  superfluous  ones  in  a  way  that 
would  startle  a  casual  acquaintance  who  would  meet 
and  converse  with  him  in  the  foyer  of  the  Metropoli- 
tan Opera  House  where  he  had  a  private  box. 


iS    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Notwithstanding  these  little  deficiencies  of  body 
and  mind,  which  after  all  did  not  detract  from  the 
general  uprightness  of  his  character,  James  Army- 
tage,  when  he  determined  to  enter  the  bonds  of  wed- 
lock, found  no  difficulty  in  forming  an  alliance  with 
a  young  lady — an  orphan  of  moderate  means — who 
by  virtue  of  her  descent  from  a  revolutionary  an- 
cestor moved  in  what  was  then  the  best  circles  of 
society.  If  not  a  marriage  of  love  it  was  one  of 
mutual  respect.  Mr.  Armytage  gained  admittance 
to  that  charmed  circle  which  has  since  been  desig- 
nated as  "the  four  hundred,"  while  his  bride  was 
enabled,  through  her  husband's  fortune,  to  be  a 
leader  in  the  "swell  set"  instead  of  a  mere  follower. 

During  their  short  married  life,  which  lasted  only 
five  years,  they  were  as  happy  in  each  other  as  almost 
any  other  married  couple,  and  when,  after  giving 
birth  to  a  boy,  Mrs.  Armytage  died  a  few  weeks 
after  the  birth  of  her  second  child,  a  girl,  Mr.  Army- 
tage sincerely  mourned  her  loss,  showed  the  fidelity 
of  his  affection  by  never  marrying  again,  and  de- 
voted the  rest  of  his  life  to  the  rearing  of  his  children 
in  a  way  to  make  them  fit  to  occupy  the  high  station 


CAREER  OF  A  SELF-MADE  MAN      19 

in  life  to  which  their  mother's  gentle  breeding  and 
their  father's  great  wealth  entitled  them. 

Nothing  was  too  good  for  Harold  and  Gladys,  as 
the  brother  and  sister  were  respectively  named.  If 
ever  children  were  born  with  golden  spoons  in  their 
mouths,  they  were  such  children.  Every  advantage 
that  wealth  could  procure  was  theirs  from  the  time 
they  were  babes  in  arms,  through  their  school  and 
college  life,  until  the  day  when  their  father,  who 
loved  them  as  the  apple  of  his  eye,  breathed  his  last. 

At  the  time  of  his  father's  death,  three  years  be- 
fore the  opening  of  this  story,  Harold  Armytage  had 
just  reached  his  majority  and  was  as  fine  a  specimen 
of  young  American  manhood  as  could  be  seen  any- 
where in  this  country.  From  his  English  father  he 
had  inherited  his  sturdy  physique,  refined  by  the 
strain  of  pure  Knickerbocker  blood  which  ran  in  the 
veins  of  his  mother,  who  was  a  DePeyster.  If  to 
his  father  he  owed  his  stalwart  frame,  his  fair,  florid 
complexion,  laughing  blue  eyes  and  curly  golden 
hair,  to  his  mother  he  was  indebted  for  the  fact  that 
he  was  a  much  taller  man  than  his  father  had  been, 
and  that  he  was  inclined  to  the  poetical  and  fanciful. 
At  Yale,  while  not  much  behind  the  best  of  his  class- 


20          THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

mates  in  his  studies  or  on  the  athletic  teams,  he  se- 
cretly wrote  poems,  constructed  works  of  fiction, 
elaborated  the  plot  of  a  play,  and  dabbled  with  the 
brush  of  the  painter  and  the  chisel  of  the  sculptor. 

Naturally  all  this  was  done  purely  for  the  love  of 
doing  it,  and  while  his  chums  at  college  were  enthusi- 
astic admirers  of  his  talents  and  made  him  their  class 
poet,  he  himself  considered  all  he  did  in  the  light  of 
an  amateur  nor  deemed  it  possible  that  the  time  could 
ever  come  when  he  would  use  his  gifts  as  a  means 
of  earning  a  livelihood.  Nor  why  indeed  should  he  ? 
Life  to  him  was  one  long  vista  of  a  path  strewn  with 
the  roses  of  ease  in  the  golden  garden  of  plenty.  His 
every  wish  was  anticipated  by  an  indulgent  father, 
who,  with  the  English  definition  of  the  term  gentle- 
man in  his  mind,  was  conscious  that  he  himself  was 
not  one,  and  considered  it  the  very  highest  of  his 
achievements  to  "make  a  gentleman,"  as  he  phrased 
it,  of  his  son  and  heir. 

Had  young  Harold  any  tendencies  to  dissipation 
or  viciousness  his  father  would  have  succeeded  in 
thoroughly  spoiling  him.  As  it  was,  he  was  saved 
from  the  rocks  that  shipwreck  the  lives  and  careers 
of  so  many  of  our  millionaires'  sons  by  an  innate 


CAREER  OF  A  SELF-MADE  MAN      21 

consciousness  of  rectitude  and  a  feeling  of  self-re- 
spect which  made  him  shrink  from  following-  the 
escapades  of  some  of  the  more  reckless  of  his  fellow- 
students,  and  yet  did  not  make  a  pharisaical,  con- 
ceited cad  of  him. 

Of  one  thing  he  was  profoundly  ignorant,  and 
that  was  the  details  of  how  his  father  made  the 
wealth  which  continued  to  flow  in.  The  big  Print- 
ing Press  Works  which  he  occasionally  visited  when 
at  home  in  the  city  were  to  him  simply  a  scene  of 
noise,  bustle,  dirt  and  confusion — all  of  which  were 
extremely  repugnant  to  the  aesthetic  side  of  his  na- 
ture. He  knew  that  there  the  big  perfecting  presses, 
capable  of  printing  half  a  million  papers  a  day,  were 
being  constructed,  and  that  these  presses  were  being 
used  in  practically  all  the  daily  newspaper  press- 
rooms in  the  country — hence  the  continuous  stream 
of  wealth.  But  that  he  should  soil  his  dainty,  care- 
fully manicured  fingers  by  doing  any  practical  work 
in  the  "shop"  was  never  in  his  own  thoughts  nor  in 
those  of  his  father,  who,  true  to  his  determination, 
wanted  to  keep  everything  smacking  of  trade  away 
from  his  son. 

Nor  did  the  people  with  whom  he  occasionally 


22          THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

came  in  contact  at  the  works  ever  strike  him  as  so 
many  individuals  with  blood  in  their  veins  of  the 
same  red  color  as  his  own,  and  with  skins  which,  if 
the  grime  and  soot  were  washed  off,  would  be  found 
to  be  as  white  as  his.  To  his  easy,  careless  mind 
they  were  so  inextricably  mixed  up  with  the  huge 
machines  by  which  they  were  surrounded  and  which 
they  manipulated,  that  they  seemed  to  be  part  of  these 
machines  themselves.  Nor  was  this  because  he  con- 
sidered himself  to  be  an  aristocrat  and  believed  in 
the  differentiation  of  human  beings  into  the  "classes*' 
and  the  "masses,"  but  simply  because  he  was  ig- 
norant of  these  things. 

He  graduated  from  Yale  laudably  if  not  with  the 
highest  honors,  on  his  twenty-first  birthday.  At  this 
time  his  sister  Gladys  was  eighteen  years  old  and 
was  finishing  her  education  at  a  fashionable  school 
for  young  ladies  on  Riverside  Drive.  Three  months 
later  his  father  died  after  an  attack  of  pneumonia, 
without  living  to  see  what  career  in  life  his  son, 
whom  he  had  reared  to  the  threshold  of  manhood, 
would  cut  out  for  himself.  After  the  funeral  of  Mr. 
Armytage,  and  the  first  period  of  mourning  were 
over,  the  Works  went  on  practically  the  same  as  dur- 


CAREER  OF  A  SELF-MADE  MAN      23 

ing1  the  founder's  lifetime,  the  Manager,  Mr.  Silas 
Chubb,  assuming  absolute  control  until  such  time 
as  Gladys  became  of  age  and  Harold  should  express 
a  willingness  to  take  charge  of  the  immense  estab- 
lishment which  he  and  his  sister  had  inherited. 

But  Harold  did  not  seem  to  be  in  any  hurry  to  do 
this.  Having  seen  his  sister  returned  to  the  finish- 
ing school,  he  had  built  for  himself  the  finest,  speedi- 
est, and  costliest  steam  yacht  which  had  ever  been 
constructed  in  this  country  up  to  that  time.  In  gen- 
eral equipment  if  not  in  size  she  was  practically  an 
Ocean  Greyhound,  capable  of  steaming  twenty  knots 
an  hour,  carrying  a  crew  of  fifty  and  fitted  out  with 
the  luxuriousness  of  an  Eastern  potentate.  This 
magnificent  vessel  when  launched  was  christened 
"Alicia"  by  Miss  Alicia  Chubb,  the  manager's  dark- 
eyed  houri  of  a  daughter,  who  broke  the  traditional 
bottle  of  champagne  against  the  main  mast  on  the 
quarter  deck. 

In  the  "Alicia"  Harold  made  a  cruise  to  Europe 
and  the  Orient.  After  crossing  the  Atlantic  in  six 
days  he  proceeded  leisurely  on  his  trip,  stopping 
wherever  his  fancy  led  him  and  for  as  long  a  time  as 
he  felt  inclined.  In  London  he  viewed  the  House  of 


24    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Parliament  and  the  Tower;  in  Paris  he  explored  the 
Quartier  Latin  nor  disdained  a  visit  to  the  Moulin 
Rouge;  he  passed  the  winter  on  the  Riviera  and 
staked  a  pocketful  of  louis-d'or  on  the  roulette 
tables  of  Monte  Carlo.  The  following  summer  found 
him  hunting  walruses  in  the  North,  and  the  winter 
succeeding  he  was  in  the  African  jungles  chasing 
tigers.  Whatever  harbor  the  "Alicia"  put  in  he  was 
received  as  the  young  American  millionaire,  a  per- 
sonage more  obsequiously  welcomed  than  an  English 
lord,  for  wherever  Harold  Armytage  went  he  scat- 
tered a  golden  shower  before  him.  But  however 
much  he  spent  there  was  always  more  to  be  had  at 
the  chain  of  banks  which,  like  commissary  stations, 
dotted  his  route,  and  at  which  Mr.  Chubb  had  estab- 
lished for  him  unlimited  credit. 

Still,  while  traveling  in  this  affluent  style  and 
squandering  the  money  earned  by  the  sweat  and  toil 
of  the  two  thousand  employees  of  the  Armytage 
Printing  Press  Works,  Harold  kept  himself  person- 
ally pure  and  uncorrupted.  His  innate  sense  of  re- 
finement prevented  him  from  degenerating  into  a 
gambler  or  a  libertine;  his  affections  were  not  en- 
snared by  any  English  maiden,  Parisian  cocotte, 


CAREER  OF  A  SELF-MADE  MAN      25 

dark-eyed,  languishing  Andalusian,  or  any  of  the 
fair  Odalisks  of  the  far  East. 

And  now  he  was  returning  home  after  his  three 
years'  cruise,  and  his  palace  yacht  was  tumultuously 
churning  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic  into  seas  of 
snow-white  foam,  as  under  full  steam  and  at  her 
highest  rate  of  speed  she  was  making  for  this  port 
to  reach  it  in  time  for  Harold  to  receive  the  welcome- 
home  reception  which  he  knew  awaited  him  on  the 
same  day  as  the  dinner  party  to  be  held  in  honor  of 
Miss  Gladys  Armytage's  twenty-first  birthday. 

And  these  festivities  were  to  be  given  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  very  day  which  witnessed  the  condemning 
of  Jack  McQuillan  to  the  Electric  Chair. 

The  young  millionaire  was  coming  home  to  enter 
into  his  heritage;  his  beautiful,  high-bred  sister  was 
to  come  of  age,  while  one  of  their  workingmen  was 
to  go  to  Sing  Sing  to  surrender  his  life,  and  the 
latter's  sister  was  to  face  a  future  which  would  call 
on  her  to  sacrifice  what  ought  to  be  dearer  than  life 
to  womankind — her  honor. 


26         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  III 

TWO  QUEENS  OF  SOCIETY. 

HPHE  Armytage  residence  on  Fifth  Avenue  was  a 
•*  corner  house  situated  in  the  central  portion  of 
the  Avenue  and  its  simple  brown-stone  front  did  not 
much  differ  from  that  of  its  neighbors;  it  was  after 
you  ascended  its  broad  stoop  and  entered  its  portals 
that  you  began  to  be  impressed  with  its  palatial 
grandeur  and  magnificence.  A  central  corridor  ran 
through  the  entire  depth  of  the  building  and  was  cov- 
ered by  a  Venetian  glass  roof  the  tinting  of  which 
was  a  work  of  the  highest  art.  Galleries,  running 
around  this  corridor  on  the  four  stories  of  the  house, 
gave  entrance  to  the  suites  of  rooms  on  each  floor, 
besides  serving  the  purpose  of  show  place  for  the  dis- 
play of  the  masterpieces  of  painting  and  sculpture 
of  all  ages  and  every  clime.  In  the  spacious  draw- 
ing-room on  the  first  floor,  in  the  dining-room,  the 


TWO  QUEENS  OF  SOCIETY  27 

library,  the  conservatory — in  fact  in  all  the  many 
apartments  of  the  large  house  there  was  everywhere 
visible  prodigality  of  outlay  without  vulgarity  of  dis- 
play; here,  indeed,  was  wealth  applied  with  an  artis- 
tic discrimination  which  delighted  the  soul  of  the 
beholder.  In  this  magnificent  mansion  there  was 
nothing  of  the  gaudy  ostentation  too  often  apparent 
in  the  homes  of  "self-made  men" — a  fact  which  was 
perhaps  due  as  much  to  the  ever  present  sense  of 
modesty  in  the  late  Mr.  Armytage  as  to  the  refining 
influence  of  his  wife  and  children. 

It  was  in  this  splendid  home  on  the  evening  of 
the  day  our  story  opens  that  the  friends  and  admirers 
of  the  brother  and  sister  gathered  to  do  them  hom- 
age. Being  always  kept  en  fete  by  a  retinue  of 
trained  domestics,  there  was  no  need  of  special  decor- 
ations, but  for  this  occasion,  in  addition  to  the  palms 
and  orange  trees  which  made  a  tropical  garden  of 
the  lower  corridor  and  the  smilax  which  was  en- 
twined on  the  walls,  chandeliers  and  balustrades, 
there  hung  from  the  ceiling  of  the  vestibule  an  enor- 
mous wreath  of  roses  bearing  the  words  "Welcome 
Home"  in  blue  forget-me-nots. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  and  the  guests 


28    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

were  gathering  in  the  grand  salon,  where,  standing 
in  the  blaze  of  the  central  chandelier,  Miss  Gladys 
Armytage,  hostess  in  her  own  right  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  received  them. 

Like  a  young  queen  she  stood  there — the  heiress 
of  the  Armytage  millions — robed  in  white  satin  and 
priceless  lace,  with  diamonds  glittering  in  her  ears 
and  hair,  and  flashing  from  her  neck  and  bosom. 
Tall  beyond  the  majority  of  women,  with  a  figure 
that  physical  culture  had  rounded  into  the  perfection 
of  form,  the  splendor  of  her  attire,  which  might  have 
crushed  an  insignificant  looking  woman,  seemed  only 
the  proper  setting  of  the  jewel  it  adorned.  An  ap- 
parition of  overmastering  beauty,  she  was  at  once 
a  Venus  of  Society  and  a  Juno  to  awe  and  command 
with  a  single  flash  of  her  steel-blue  eyes. 

She  resembled  her  brother  in  general  appearance, 
being  of  the  same  fair  complexion  with  a  profusion 
of  golden  hair  framing  a  face  glowing  with  perfect 
health,  but  there  was  that  in  the  poise  of  the  neck, 
the  way  she  carried  her  shoulders,  and  in  the  gleam 
of  her  eyes  which  betokened  a  proud,  indomitable 
spirit  which  made  her  different  frorh  her  impulsive, 
good-natured  brother.  It  had,  indeed,  been  whis- 


TWO  QUEENS  OF  SOCIETY  29 

pered  that  Harold  should  have  been  born  the  girl  and 
she  the  boy.  She  was  intensely  proud — proud  of  her 
father's  millions  and  English  ancestry,  proud  of  her 
mother's  good  old  Knickerbocker  blood,  proud  of  her 
school-girl  ambitions,  which  made  her  win  all  the 
honors  over  her  class-mates  in  the  schoolroom  as  well 
as  in  their  physical  exercises  on  the  campus,  proud 
of  her  regal  beauty  of  which  she  was  fully  conscious 
without  being  conceited,  proud  of  the  thought  that 
all  these  qualifications  were  so  many  weapons  in  her 
hand  with  which  to  win  that  supreme  position  in  so- 
ciety where  she  would  reign  without  a  rival. 

To  a  young  woman  so  constituted,  how  stale  and 
flat  and  insipid  must  American  society — with  its  cru- 
dities barely  veneered,  its  shop-talk  breaking  through 
the  restraints  of  good  form  at  unexpected  moments, 
its  commonplace,  if  sturdy,  democracy  constantly 
seeking  to  force  an  entrance  into  the  most  exclusive 
set — -have  appeared.  Like  her  brother  she,  too,  had 
her  day-dreams.  If  his  took  the  shape  of  an  idle  life 
of  ease  and  luxury  with  no  greater  occupation  than 
to  fashion  a  sonnet  or  paint  a  landscape,  hers  took  a 
prouder,  more  ambitious  flight.  In  dreams  she  saw 
herself  courted  and  won  by  some  titled  foreigner  who 


30    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

would  bear  her  away  from  the  land  of  her  birth 
where  everything  was  only  American  and  where 
everything  American  smacked  of  trade — even  her 
father's  millions.  She  would  sometimes  think  of 
their  origin  with  a  shudder  and  would  secretly  gaze 
at  her  delicate  hands  as  if  fearful  that  the  smut  of 
the  Printing  Press  Works  clung  to  them.  If  only 
an  English,  German,  French,  Italian  or  Russian 
Count  or  any  other  nobleman,  she  cared  not  which, 
would  take  her  to  his  own  country  where  there  were 
hereditary  distinctions  and  classes,  where  there  were 
castles  or  chateaux,  where  there  were  lords  and  their 
wives — ladies,  and  all  others  not  of  their  rank  seem- 
ingly created  only  to  bow  down  to  worship  them  or 
to  obey  their  slightest  behest ! 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  simmered  in  the 
brain  of  this  haughty  young  lady  as,  with  cold  self- 
possession,  she  scarcely  gave  a  bow  of  recognition 
to  the  vapid  mass  of  sons  of  bankers,  lawyers  and 
railroad  men,  heirs  to  fortunes  made  in  pickles,  soap 
and  pills,  who  hovered  around  her  overwhelming  her 
with  their  congratulations  and  adulations. 

She  was  assisted  in  receiving  the  guests  by  Miss 
Alicia  Chubb,  her  bosom  friend,  so  far  as  a  girl  of 


TWO  QUEENS  OF  SOCIETY  31 

Gladys'  disposition  could  have  an  intimate  friend. 
As  Mr.  Chubb  had  during  Mr.  Armytage's  lifetime 
been  second  in  authority  in  the  business,  and  since 
the  founder's  death  had  been  in  supreme  control,  it 
naturally  followed  that  his  wife  and  daughter  should 
move  in  practically  the  same  circle  of  society  as  the 
Armytages. 

Mrs.  Chubb  was  a  quiet  home  body  who  never  for- 
got her  simple  New  England  rearing,  during  which 
she  used  to  pride  herself  on  her  thrifty  methods  of 
housekeeping.  As  her  husband's  position  in  life 
advanced  and  they  could  afford  to  keep  first  one  and 
then  several  servants,  she  would  constantly  lament 
that  she  could  find  nothing  for  her  busy  hands  to  do. 
She  afterwards,  however,  found  out  that  she  had 
more  than  her  hands  full  in  trying  to  rear  her  daugh- 
ter Alicia,  and  in  acting  as  a  sort  of  chaperon  to  the 
motherless  Gladys.  The  latter  treated  her  with  the 
good-humored  familiarity  that  one  extends  to  a  faith- 
ful, motherly  housekeeper,  while  Alicia  laid  down  the 
law  which  her  mother  was  expected  to  implicitly 
obey,  and  this  Mrs.  Chubb  had  done  ever  since  Alicia 
at  the  tender  age  of  ten  decidedly  showed  that  she 
had  a  mind  of  her  own.  That  was  twelve  years  ago, 


32         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

and  now  at  twenty-two  years  of  age  she  had  reduced 
her  mother  to  such  a  state  of  helpless  servitude  to 
her  whims  that  the  dazed  and  bewildered  old  lady 
would  have  tried  to  fetch  the  moon  down  from  the 
sky  if  Alicia  had  expressed  a  desire  for  it. 

One  of  the  laws  laid  down  by  Alicia  for  her  own 
as  well  as  for  her  mother's  guidance  was  to  be  and 
keep  on  intimate  social  terms  with  the  Armytages. 
She  had  the  same  music  and  dancing  teachers,  went 
to  the  same  fashionable  ladies'  seminary,  and,  by 
making  herself  generally  useful  to  the  young  heiress, 
found  herself  always  invited  to  the  children's  and 
young  folks'  parties  which  Mr.  Armytage  gave  be- 
fore Gladys  had  been  introduced  into  society. 

She  had  been  Gladys'  school-mate,  graduating  a 
year  before  she  did,  her  companion  on  vacation  trips, 
and  in  and  out  of  the  Armytage  residence  almost 
as  much  as  her  own  home.  Under  these  circum- 
stances it  was  only  natural  that  a  boy  and  girl  at- 
tachment should  have  sprung  up  between  Harold 
and  Alicia.  She  was  good  to  look  at,  of  a  dark,  lan- 
guishing style  of  beauty,  more  Southern  in  type  than 
one  would  expect  to  find  in  one  whose  parents  were 
Yankees.  Though  not  so  tall  as  Gladys  she  was 


TWO  QUEENS  OF  SOCIETY  33 

more  voluptuous  in  shape.  Gladys  had  the  cold, 
serene  beauty  of  a  goddess  chiseled  in  marble,  but 
Alicia's  was  the  beaute  de  diable  which  betokened  a 
heart  as  determined  to  conquer  the  object  of  its  pas- 
sion as  Alicia  was  bound  to  follow  out  the  colder 
dictates  of  her  mind. 

And  the  goal  of  Alicia's  passionate  nature  was 
Harold  Armytage's  love.  His  wealth  counted  for 
little  in  her  eyes,  for  her  father's  income  was  by  no 
means  inconsiderable.  She  was  her  father's  con- 
fidante much  more  than  her  mother  was,  and  knew 
how  well,  if  secretly,  he  had  invested  the  savings  of 
his  large  salary  in  speculative  enterprises,  so  much 
so  that  he  was  on  the  road  to  become  a  millionaire 
if  he  was  not  already  one.  No,  she  would  have  wor- 
shipped Harold  just  the  same  if  he  had  been  the 
pauper  son  of  a  poverty-stricken  sire.  He  was  her 
ideal  of  a  man ;  her  king ;  her  idol ;  and  to  win  him 
had  been  the  overmastering  desire  of  her  life  ever 
since  she  had  begun  to  think  of  love  or  lovers. 

Did  he  reciprocate  her  love  ?  That  she  could  not 
honestly  acknowledge  even  to  herself.  Her  beauty 
charmed  him  as  it  did  every  man  who  gazed  upon  it ; 
he  admired  her  liveliness  of  wit,  the  quickness  of  her 


34          THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

intellect,  her  gay  repartee ;  he  was  flattered,  perhaps 
unconsciously,  by  her  praises  of  his  poems  and  by 
the  appreciative  manner  in  which  she  accepted  the 
gift  of  some  trifle  he  had  painted — but  all  this  did  not 
imply  that  ardent  affection  which  her  fiery  nature 
demanded. 

She  knew  that  the  girl  of  nineteen  is  far  more  ma- 
ture in  her  thoughts  concerning  the  tender  passion 
than  is  a  youth  of  twenty-one  fresh  from  college, 
who  may  dream  of  love  and  passion  in  the  abstract 
without  feeling  the  necessity  for  their  embodiment 
in  a  concrete  female  form ;  and  that  was  their  respec- 
tive ages  when  they  had  been  last  together.  Then, 
at  Harold's  request,  she  had  christened  his  yacht 
with  her  name.  Since  then  he  had  traversed  many 
climes  and  had  doubtless  seen  many  fair,  eligible  and 
lovely  women;  would  he  come  back  to  her  heart- 
whole?  He  had  left  her  a  lovely  bud  about  to  burst 
open  into  the  beauteous  flower  of  womanhood;  he 
would  return  to  find  her  in  the  full  bloom  of  her 
gorgeous  beauty. 

If  all  that  had  gone  before,  even  the  incident  of  her 
naming  the  yacht,  counted  for  nothing,  as  long  as 
some  other  fair  maiden  had  not  captivated  his  fancy, 


TWO  QUEENS  OF  SOCIETY  35 

she  felt,  in  the  proud  consciousness  of  her  dazzling 
charms,  that  she  could  and  would  enslave  his  heart. 

These  were  the  thoughts  surging  through  her  mind 
and  causing  her  bosom  to  swell  with  agitation  as 
she  stood  there  at  Gladys'  side,  her  dark  beauty  and 
pale,  pink  silken  gown  forming  an  admirable  foil 
to  the  other's  fair  loveliness  and  white  lustrous  satin. 
They  would  be  soon  determined  for  her,  for  life- 
long weal  or  woe,  for  a  telegram  had  been  received 
that  the  "Alicia"  was  safe  in  port,  and  that  the  young 
heir  could  be  expected  to  arrive  in  half  an  hour's 
time. 

Meanwhile  there  were  constantly  new  arrivals 
among  the  guests.  At  the  drawing-room  entrance  a 
pompous  butler  stood  in  a  glory  of  plush  and  plumes, 
announcing  the  visitors  in  a  sonorous  voice  and  tak- 
ing sad  liberties  with  the  proper  pronunciation  of 
their  names. 

"His  Honor,  the  Recorder  of  the  City  of  New 
York,  and  Mr.  Silas  Chubb,"  announced  this  func- 
tionary. 

Mr.  Chubb  entered  first.  He  was  tall,  lean  and 
lank,  his  lantern-jawed  face  not  unlike  that  of  "Uncle 
Sam"  as  he  is  familiarly  pictured,  with  the  same 


36    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

deep-sunken,  piercing  eyes,  high  cheekbones,  promi- 
nent nose  and  firm,  protruding  chin  covered  by  a 
wisp  of  grayish  beard.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  perfect 
Yankee  in  appearance  with  all  of  a  Yankee's  cunning 
and  smartness,  by  which  from  an  humble  under- 
strapper he  had  made  himself  the  indispensable  fac- 
totum of  the  late  founder  and  was  now  the  virtual 
head  of  the  great  establishment.  There  was  no  trace 
of  his  daughter's  warm-blooded  Southern  impulsive- 
ness in  him — that  must  have  come  from  ancestors  on 
her  mother's  side.  Every  act  he  did,  every  word  he 
spoke  in  his  low  silky  tones,  was  after  due  delibera- 
tion and  with  a  careful  foresight  of  the  consequences. 
He  now  ushered  in  the  very  magistrate  who  had 
that  afternoon  sentenced  one  of  his  former  employees 
to  death.  The  Recorder's  coming  to  that  house  was 
not  a  premeditated  act  on  the  part  of  His  Honor ;  he 
was,  in  fact,  not  an  invited  guest.  If  he  had  been 
it  would  have  made  no  difference  in  his  judicial  ac- 
tion of  the  afternoon.  He  was  a  grave,  austere, 
elderly  man,  portly  in  build,  with  a  knowledge  of 
the  law  which  made  him  pre-eminent  in  his  chosen 
profession  and  a  determination  to  execute  it  which 
had  won  for  him  the  sobriquet  of  "The  Terror  of  the 


TWO  QUEENS  OF  SOCIETY  37 

Bench"  and  the  wholesome  fear  of  all  evil-doers. 
He  tried  conscientiously  to  perform  his  duty  as  he 
perceived  it — to  acquit  the  innocent  and  punish  the 
guilty. 

After  performing  his  judicial  functions  he  had 
gone  to  his  home  and,  rinding  his  family  away  on  a 
visit,  had  donned  evening  dress  and  repaired  to  his 
club  for  dinner.  There  he  had  met  Mr.  Chubb,  whose 
wife  and  daughter  had  gone  ahead  to  the  Armytage 
residence  to  assist  Gladys  in  her  preparations  for  the 
evening.  The  two  men  were  fellow  members  and 
casual  acquaintances,  so  that  naturally,  after  they 
had  dined  together,  Mr.  Chubb  had  suggested  his 
coming  with  him  to  the  reception.  The  Recorder 
had  demurred  on  the  ground  that  he  had  not  been  in- 
vited, but  Mr.  Chubb  had  overruled  this  objection 
by  stating  truthfully  enough  that  any  assemblage  in 
the  city  would  feel  honored  by  the  presence  of  so  dis- 
tinguished a  personage  as  the  Recorder,  and  then, 
a  cab  having  been  called,  the  two  drove  to  the  Army- 
tage mansion. 

As  Mr.  Chubb  now  led  the  Recorder  forward  to 
present  him  to  Miss  Armytage,  little  did  either  of  the 
men  think  what  an  important  bearing  on  future 


38         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

events  His  Honor's  presence  in  that  home  this  even- 
ing would  be. 

The  next  announcement  by  the  personage  in  plush 
at  the  door  was : 

"Mrs.  Van  Courtlandt  DePeyster,"  followed  by  a 
jumble  of  words  which  sounded  like  "The  Markiss  de 
Bel  River."  An  audible  murmur  ran  through  the 
assemblage  as  the  two  personages  so  announced  en- 
tered the  drawing-room,  and,  being  late  comers,  at- 
tracted the  gaze  of  all  eyes  as  they  proceeded  to  pay 
their  homage  to  the  young  hostess. 

"The  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere,"  confidentially 
whispered  one  gentleman  into  the  ear  of  another; 
"he's  the  genuine  article,  just  arrived  from  Paris." 

"To  capture  an  American  heiress,  I  suppose,"  re- 
plied the  one  addressed. 

"The  Marquis!  And  Mrs.  Van  has  him  in  tow, 
of  course,"  sighed  a  mother  with  several  eligible 
daughters  to  another  similarly  encumbered. 

"It's  a  dead  set  for  Gladys  and  the  Armytage 
millions,  you  mark  my  words,"  replied  mother  num- 
ber two. 


MRS.  VAN  AND  THE  MARQUIS       39 


MRS.  VAN  AND  THE  MARQUIS 

/""\NE  of  the  delightful  mysteries  of  New  York 
^-^  society  was  Mrs.  Van  Courtlandt  DePeyster, 
or  Mrs.  Van,  as  she  was  familiarly  called.  She 
knew  everybody  who  was  anybody,  and  not  to 
know  her  was  to  read  oneself  out  of  the  charmed  cir- 
cle of  which  Murray  Hill  was  then  the  centre.  Yet 
what  did  anybody  know  of  her?  If  there  was  one 
person  who  affirmed  that  she  knew  and  talked 
French  like  a  native  Parisian,  there  were  others  who 
were  ready  to  declare  that  in  her  correspondence  she 
habitually  misspelled  the  simplest  English  words. 
Some  gave  her  credit  for  the  most  critical  taste  in 
Etruscan  pottery,  of  Cloisonne  and  peach-blow 
vases,  while  others  found  her  lamentably  deficient  in 
the  ordinary  details  of  American  history.  There 
were  those  who,  judging  from  her  familiarity  with 


40    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

the  British  Ambassador  at  Washington  and  the  Con- 
sul-General of  the  United  Kingdom  at  New  York, 
frequent  visitors  at  her  home,  and  from  her  corre- 
spondence with  any  number  of  English  dukes  and 
duchesses,  counts  and  countesses  and  other  titled 
members  of  the  British  aristocracy,  assumed  that  she 
was  perhaps  descended  from  some  scion  of  the  Brit- 
ish peerage.  Others,  hearing  her  occasional  loud 
voice — it  was  whispered  that  she  fairly  screeched 
when  excited — and  noticing  her  tall,  portly  form, 
which  involuntarily  reminded  one  of  a  kitchen  dra- 
goon, and  her  large  hands,  which,  in  spite  of  all  the 
arts  of  the  manicure,  would  persist  in  remaining  red 
and  coarse  looking,  wondered  whether  she  had  ever 
been  in  domestic  service. 

There  was  indeed  an  awful  rumor,  never  even 
whispered  when  she  was  present,  that  she  had  been 
before  her  marriage  some  sort  of  an  upper  housemaid 
to  her  first  husband,  Mr.  Van  Courtlandt,  and  al- 
though she  had,  with  commendable  ambition,  per- 
fected herself  in  all  the  society  accomplishments — 
could  now,  at  least,  chatter  French,  talk  bric-a-brac, 
give  her  opinion  on  Wagner,  Offenbach  and  Strauss 
— she  had  not  considered  it  necessary  to  remedy  the 


MRS.  VAN  AND  THE  MARQUIS        41 

defects  of  her  early  neglected  education  in  reading, 
writing  and  arithmetic. 

It  was  known  that  Mr.  Van  Courtlandt  died  leav- 
ing her  a  moderate  competence  and  an  only  child,  a 
daughter  whom  she  reared  with  an  eye  single  to  that 
daughter's  future  destiny,  which  was  to  marry  her 
off  to  some  younger  son  of  a  British  nobleman.  This 
she  accomplished,  as  she  had  a  habit  of  accomplish- 
ing about  everything  she  undertook,  and  the  wedding 
was  duly  celebrated  with  great  pomp  at  Grace 
Church,  after  which  the  young  couple  sailed  for  Eng- 
land, where  they  permanently  made  their  home,  and, 
sad  to  relate,  "cut"  their  respective  mamma  and 
mother-in-law.  They  never  paid  her  a  visit,  though 
she  made  frequent  trips  abroad,  and  she  saw  her 
daughter  only  in  mixed  assemblages,  never  in  the 
intimacy  of  the  latter's  home. 

This  was  indeed  unfilial,  but  who  can  tell  that  it 
was  not  part  of  the  bargain  which  gave  Miss  Gracie 
Van  Courtlandt  for  a  husband  a  major  in  the  British 
Army  who,  in  the  event  of  the  death  of  several 
brothers  and  their  children,  would  become  an  earl  in 
his  own  right  ?  However  this  may  be,  the  then  Mrs. 
Van  Courtlandt  never  rebelled,  always  spoke  of  her 


42    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

dear  son-in-law  as  Major,  the  Hon.  Mr.  Lonsdale, 
and  of  what  a  happy  life  her  daughter  the  Hon.  Mrs. 
Lonsdale  was  leading  abroad. 

Having  thus  happily  disposed  of  her  "encum- 
brance," as  she  privately  stigmatized  her  daughter, 
the  fair  and  still  comely  widow  set  about  to  find  for 
herself  a  worthy  successor  to  the  late  lamented  Mr. 
Van  Courtlandt.  She  fastened  her  soulful  eyes  and 
her  clutches  on  a  Mr.  Nicholas  DePeyster,  a  relative 
of  Mrs.  Armytage,  who  had  spent  the  sixty  years 
of  his  life  a  bookworm  in  his  library  and  a  star- 
gazer  in  the  amateur  observatory  he  had  established 
on  the  roof  of  his  residence.  It  is  probable  that  the 
aged  savant  never  knew  himself  how  it  happened  that 
he  was  wooed,  won  and  wedded  with  a  neatness  and 
despatch  which  surprised  himself  as  much  as  it  did 
society  circles. 

After  all,  it  was  but  an  episode  in  his  life;  he  went 
back  to  his  books  and  his  stars,  while  Mrs.  Van 
Courtlandt  added  the  aristocratic  DePeyster  to  the 
name  on  her  visiting  cards,  moved  into  the  fashion- 
able residence  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  gave  a  series  of 
receptions  which  were  attended  by  the  elite  of  the 
metropolis.  Mr.  DePeyster  did  not  last  long  after 


MRS.  VAN  AND  THE  MARQUIS        43 

his  matrimonial  venture;  within  two  years  he  had 
quitted  star-gazing  and  gone  to  the  happy  land  where 
buxom  widows  cease  from  troubling  and  old  bache- 
lors are  at  rest.  Mrs.  Van  Courtlandt  DePeyster 
found,  much  to  her  chagrin,  that  her  present  hand- 
some residence  was  about  all  she  had  gained  by  her 
matrimonial  tactics,  since  her  late  husband  had  spent 
whatever  wealth  he  otherwise  possessed  in  a  lot  of 
astronomical  instruments  which  she  promptly  sold 
for  so  much  old  junk.  Besides,  when  she  entered 
into  her  second  matrimonial  venture,  she  had  been 
obliged,  under  the  will,  to  surrender  the  income  she 
had  been  receiving  from  her  first  husband's  estate. 

Altogether  things  began  to  look  pretty  blue  for  the 
doubly  bereft  widow  when  the  bright  idea  struck  her 
that,  since  the  average  American  heiress  was  hunting 
for  a  husband  with  a  foreign  title,  while  any  number 
of  impecunious  noblemen  were  seeking  an  alliance 
with  the  daughters  of  wealth  and  fashion  to  prop  up 
their  tottering  rank,  she  might  make  a  good  thing 
of  it  by  acting  as  a  sort  of  marriage  broker  between 
them.  She  had  been  so  highly  successful  in  the  case 
of  her  own  daughter,  that,  aided  by  her  social  con- 
nections here  and  abroad,  and  her  indomitable  will. 


44          THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

there  seemed  no  reason  to  Mrs.  Van  why  she  should 
not  be  equally  successful  in  her  new  and  highly  gen- 
teel profession. 

And  so  she  found  it.  Alliances  were  made  neatly 
and  quickly;  receptions  in  her  magnificent  mansion 
increased  in  frequency  and  the  number  of  guests; 
there  was  in  her  parlors  a  steady  stream  of  young 
society  buds  with  their  mammas  on  the  one  hand  and 
recently  arrived  scions  of  nobility  of  all  climes  and 
all  degrees  on  the  other.  The  daily  papers  chronicled 
with  greater  frequency  these  Anglo-American,  Fran- 
co-American, German- American  and  other  similarly 
hyphenated  alliances,  deploring  the  sudden  craze  for 
these  kinds  of  matches  which  seemed  to  have  taken 
possession  of  the  fair  maids  in  our  exclusive  set — and 
it  was  all  grist  for  the  Widow  DePeyster's  mill. 

She  was  in  the  very  zenith  of  her  glory,  fairly  roll- 
ing in  wealth,  when  the  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere, 
a  few  weeks  before  the  opening  of  this  story,  came  to 
her  with  letters  of  accreditation  from  her  agent  in 
Paris,  with  the  request  to  throw  open  for  him  the 
magic  portals  of  metropolitan  society,  that  he  might 
enter  that  modern  paradise  in  search  of  an  end-of- 
the-nineteenth-century  peri. 


MRS.  VAN  AND  THE  MARQUIS        45 

Mrs.  Van's  Paris  agent  informed  her  that  the 
Marquis'  ancestor,  the  Due  de  Belle-Riviere,  was  a 
Marechal  of  France  and  commanded  a  regiment  at 
the  siege  of  Rochelle;  that  the  family  were  great 
Royalists  during  the  Revolution  and  tried  to  rescue 
Louis  XVI  from  the  guillotine;  that  another  Belle- 
Riviere  was  a  peer  of  France  and  Minister  of  For- 
eign Affairs,  and  so  through  a  long  family  history, 
which  was  undoubtedly  a  reflex  of  the  national  pride 
and  glory  of  France. 

But  magnificent  as  was  the  glory  of  the  Belle- 
Rivieres,  equally  magnificent  was  their  style  of  liv- 
ing; so  much  so  that  it  became  proverbial  in  Paris 
to  say  that  the  wealth  of  a  living  Belle-Riviere  was 
exceeded  only  by  the  enormous  debts  he  left  behind 
him  when  he  died.  That  was  the  case  until  the 
Franco-Prussian  War  broke  out.  With  the  fall  of 
Napoleon  III  and  the  establishment  of  the  Republic, 
so  many  of  the  hereditary  privileges  of  the  seigneurs 
had  been  lopped  off  that,  while  the  family  debts 
continued  to  accumulate,  the  family  income  kept 
becoming  smaller  and  smaller  every  year. 

The  present  Due  de  Belle-Riviere,  the  head  of  the 
family,  was  a  childless  old  man  of  eighty,  in  his 


46    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

ruined  chateau  of  Belle-Riviere  on  the  banks  of  the 
Rhone,  lamenting  the  past  glories  of  his  race.  He 
had  buried  his  wife  and  son  and  was  seemingly  kept 
alive  only  by  the  hope  that  his  nephew,  the  Marquis, 
would  marry  a  wealthy  heiress,  and  with  her  dowry 
restore  the  estate  in  the  country  and  the  residence  on 
the  Faubourg  Sainte-Germain  to  their  regail  gran- 
deur. 

This  the  Marquis  was  perfectly  willing  to  do,  but 
where  was  he  to  find  the  heiress  ?  Like  in  so  many 
French  families,  he  was  an  only  child,  and  at  the  suc- 
cessive deaths  of  his  father  and  mother  had  promptly 
proceeded  to  make  ducks  and  drakes  of  the  fortunes 
he  had  inherited  from  each. 

Since  then  he  lived,  so  to  speak,  on  the  interest  of 
his  debts  and  the  small  allowance  his  uncle  was  able 
to  make  him.  He  was  now  forty  years  of  age.  His 
still  handsome  dark  face,  with  its  black,  piercing 
eyes,  Roman  nose  and  black  moustache,  showed  only 
slight  traces  of  the  life  usually  led  by  the  young 
bloods  of  the  gayest  capital  in  the  world.  He  was  a 
superb  duellist  and  a  hunter  of  renown;  his  horses 
had  won  him  many  a  Grand  Prix  in  the  races  at 
Longchamps  as  well  as  occasionally  being  in  the 


MRS.  VAN  AND  THE  MARQUIS       47 

lead  in  the  Derby,  while  he  was  equally  at  home  in 
the  fashionable  clubs  at  Paris  and  the  green  tables 
at  Monte  Carlo,  where  his  daring  had  often  won 
him  the  profound  admiration  of  less  audacious 
players. 

He  had  never  had  an  unselfish  love  for  woman 
in  his  life.  He  admired  the  fair  sex  as  a  whole 
too  much  to  limit  his  affections  to  any  particular  one. 
Besides,  he  knew  what  was  desired  of  him  by  his 
uncle  the  Duke,  whom  he  wished  to  please,  and 
whose  aspirations  he  shared ;  it  was  to  restore  the 
ancient  glories  of  the  house  of  Belle-Riviere  by  a 
wealthy  marriage.  It  was  all  very  nice,  but  there 
was  no  hurry  about  it.  A  husband  in  France  has 
his  wings  considerably  clipped,  and  only  among 
the  peasants  or  working  classes  are  there  still  illu- 
sions about  love's  young  dream  and  early  conjugal 
bliss.  So  he  spent  his  evenings,  when  he  was  not 
otherwise  engaged,  in  the  company  of  the  Rose  Pom- 
pons and  the  Zoo-Zoos  and  other  more  or  less  well- 
known  women  of  the  Theatre  Varietes  or  demi- 
mondaines  of  the  Moulin  Rouge. 

Thus  he  allowed  the  years  to  slip  by  until  one 
morning  he  found  himself  forty  years  of  age,  get- 


48    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

ting  stout  of  figure  and  bald  of  head,  and  awoke  to 
the  necessity  that  it  was  about  time  to  seriously 
seek  the  wealthy  heiress.  But  where  was  a  young 
girl  with  at  least  five  million  francs  in  her  own 
right  to  be  found?  That  sum  was  the  lowest  that 
would  be  needed  to  properly  restore  the  estate  in 
the  country,  to  keep  up  the  establishment  in  Paris, 
and  to  provide  for  his  own  luxurious  tastes.  If 
the  lady  who  was  to  be  made  Marquise  now  and 
Duchess  later  had  more  than  that  amount,  so  much 
the  better,  but  she  must  have  it  at  her  own  absolute 
disposal — there  must  be  no  hindrances  in  the  shape 
of  parents  or  guardians.  It  would  have  to  be  his 
to  dispose  of  after  marriage.  Besides,  she  would 
have  to  be  pleasing;  the  ladies  Belle-Riviere  had  all 
been  noted  for  their  beauty  of  person,  the  accom- 
plishments of  their  minds  and  the  grace  and  affa- 
bility of  their  dispositions.  He  could  not,  in  jus- 
tice to  them  or  to  his  own  refined  tastes,  introduce 
a  homely,  ill-bred,  uneducated  parvenue  among 
such  a  galaxy,  no  matter  how  great  a  fortune  she 
possessed. 

He  knew  that  the  paragon  he  wanted  could  not 
be  found  in  France,  where  there  are  but  few  million- 


MRS.  VAN  AND  THE  MARQUIS        49 

aires,  and  a  dowry  of  200,000  francs  was  deemed 
sufficient  to  endow  the  bride  of  a  prince.  He 
would  have  to  look  for  her  in  England  or  America 
— those  blessed  countries  where  there  were  iron 
kings  and  coal  barons  and  great  captains  of  indus- 
try who  were  able  and  willing  to  give  their  daugh- 
ters millions  of  British  pounds  sterling  or  Yankee 
dollars  to  buy  for  them  a  titled  husband. 

He  was  hesitating  as  to  which  country  he  would 
honor  first  with  his  matrimonial  explorations  when 
he  made  the  chance  acquaintance  at  one  of  his  clubs 
of  Harold  Armytage,  who  was  then  dawdling  in 
Paris  on  his  way  home  from  his  tour  of  the  world. 
They  became  fairly  intimate  during  the  month  that 
Harold  remained  in  Paris,  and  during  this  time  the 
Marquis  learned  all  about  Gladys  Armytage  and 
even  saw  her  portrait  which  her  brother  carried 
with  him.  Here  was  the  very  paragon  he  was  seek- 
ing— young,  beautiful,  accomplished,  with  a  fortune 
of  two  million  dollars,  equal  to  ten  million  francs, 
and,  best  of  all,  an  orphan  about  to  become  of  age 
and  mistress  of  her  own  wealth.  Here  was  the 
Marquise  par  excellence  for  him.  He  was  too 
shrewd  to  declare  his  intentions  to  Harold.  There 


50    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

was  no  need  to  awaken  a  possible  antagonism  in 
advance.  The  two  parted  the  best  of  friends,  Har- 
old to  continue  his  desultory  trip  by  setting  sail  in 
his  yacht  for  a  month's  sojourn  in  London,  while 
Etienne,  as  the  Marquis  was  called  by  his  familiars, 
hunted  up  a  marriage  broker  whom  he  heard  had 
American  connections. 

The  Marquis  was  delighted  to  discover  that  the 
broker  operated  through  Mrs.  Van  Courtlandt  De- 
Peyster,  a  distant  relative  by  marriage  to  the  Army- 
tages,  and  the  very  next  steamer  of  the  Franco- 
American  line  bore  him  and  his  fortunes  across  the 
Atlantic.  All  this  was  made  plain  to  Mrs.  Van 
when  he  had  duly  presented  himself  to  her  and 
given  her  his  letters  of  accreditation,  and  she  made 
it  equally  plain  to  the  French  nobleman,  though  in 
the  most  diplomatic  manner,  that  she  expected  to 
receive  a  goodly  slice  of  Gladys'  dowry  when  it 
came  into  his  possession.  These  preliminaries  duly 
arranged,  Mrs.  Van  set  about  to  procure  a  card 
for  the  Marquis  for  Gladys'  reception  and  Harold's 
welcome  home.  Mrs.  Van  told  Gladys  that  the 
Marquis  had  made  her  brother's  acquaintance  in 


MRS.  VAN  AND  THE  MARQUIS       51 

Paris,  which  made  it  seem  natural  for  him  to  be 
present  at  Harold's  home  coming. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere 
was  able  to  present  his  homage  to  the  great  Ameri- 
can heiress, 


52         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  HEIR'S  RETURN 

'"PHE  subdued  sounds  of  a  distant  and  hidden  or- 
•*•  chestra  floated  through  the  drawing-room  as, 
the  presentation  being  over,  the  guests  at  the  Army- 
tage  mansion  broke  up  into  groups  whiling  away 
the  time  in  conversation  until  the  young  master 
should  appear. 

Some  went  to  view  the  really  magnificent  collec- 
tion of  paintings  in  the  art  gallery ;  others  proceeded 
to  the  conservatory,  where  gigantic  palms  spread 
their  umbrageous  foliage  and  the  air  was  heavy  with 
the  perfume  of  a  thousand  exotics,  while  the  tinkling 
of  the  water  in  the  fountain  formed  a  sort  of  rhyth- 
mic accompaniment  to  the  gentle  strains  of  the  music 
that  here  made  themselves  faintly  heard.  It  was 
the  younger  set  that  naturally  favored  the  conser- 
vatory; some  took  advantage  of  the  rustic  nooks  to 


THE  HEIR'S  RETURN  53 

indulge  in  some  rather  audacious  flirting ;  the  group 
in  which  we  are  more  particularly  interested,  that 
which  surrounded  Gladys  Armytage  and  Alicia 
Chubb,  were  standing  near  the  fountain. 

The  presence  of  a  real  live  Marquis  and  heir  to  a 
dukedom  naturally  acted  on  the  ordinarily  not  too 
exuberant  spirits  of  the  Sons  of  Somebody  like  a 
wet  blanket,  and  the  young  heirs  of  fortunes  made 
in  stocks  or  railroads  or  soap  or  pickles  contented 
themselves  with  staring  at  the  foreign  nobleman  in 
an  endeavor  to  get  tips  on  the  real  thing  in  French 
manners  and  the  cut  of  French  clothes.  This  left 
the  conversation  to  be  monopolized  by  the  Marquis 
and  the  two  ladies,  with  only  an  occasional  interjec- 
tion from  the  "Willie-boys,"  since  it  was  carried  on 
exclusively  in  French,  which  both  Gladys  and  Alicia 
spoke  fluently. 

"I  suppose,  Marquis,  that  you  have  already  been 
asked  the  inevitable  question,"  said  Alicia,  "how  do 
you  like  America?" 

"Before  I  had  left  the  ship  an  hour,"  he  replied 
with  a  smile ;  "that  was  two  weeks  ago.  Since  then 
I  have  visited  your  Central  Park,  your  museums, 
academies  of  fine  arts  and  libraries;  beyond  that  I 


54    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

am  ignorant.  Of  your  grand  and  beautiful  Hudson, 
of  the  wonders  of  Niagara  Falls,  I  am  sorry  to  say 
I  know  nothing  of  my  own  observation." 

"And  of  our  society?"  asked  Gkdys. 

"This  evening  is  my  debut,  thanks  to  your  gra- 
cious courtesy,"  replied  the  Marquis  with  a  bow 
which  each  "Willie-boy"  secretly  determined  to  prac- 
tice an  hour  each  evening  before  his  mirror. 

"Well,  now  that  you  have  seen  us,  ches  nous, 
what  do  you  think  of  us?"  daringly  asked  Alicia. 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  come  to  her  native  land  to 
sound  the  praises  of  la  belle  Americaine.  Go  to 
London,  to  Berlin,  to  my  own  Paris,  climb  the  Alps 
or  sail  along  the  Mediterranean,  wherever  you  go 
there  you  will  find  a  girl  with  a  form  as  straight  as 
a  sapling,  a  figure  plump  but  not  stout,  lithe  but  not 
lean,  a  figure  which,  whether  by  nature  or  physical 
culture,  has  been  brought  to  a  state  of  simple  perfec- 
tion. On  a  swan-like  neck  is  poised  a  head  which 
bears  itself  with  the  conscious  pride  of  its  own  sov- 
ereignty. Yet  its  hauteur  is  tempered  by  a  laugh- 
ing oval  face  with  cheeks  of  a  creamy  hue  and  velvet 
texture  which  are  the  despair  of  beauties  of  other 
climes.  Her  smiling  lips  reveal  two  rows  of  perfect 


THE  HEIR'S  RETURN  55 

teeth,  her  nose  seems  to  have  been  lent  her  by  Venus 
of  Milo,  while  there  is  in  her  large,  flashing  eyes  a 
je  ne  sais  quoi  which  makes  you  think  she  is  le  vrai 
diable  if  you  did  not  know  she  was  une  ange  pure  et 
simple.  You  ask  your  neighbor  who  she  is  and  the 
invariable  answer  is,  'la  belle  Americaine' ' 

"Say,  by  Jove,"  muttered  one  of  the  "Willie-boys" 
who  knew  his  Ollendorff,  "that's  a  corker.  If  I 
could  string  off  something  like  that  I'd  be  right  in  it 
with  the  girls." 

"You  have  described,  and  very  eloquently,  the 
American  girl  abroad,"  said  Gladys,  "and  now  that 
you  have  seen  her  in  her  native  land " 

"I  have  seen  her,"  he  finished  with  courtly  grace, 
"amid  surroundings  which,  like  the  setting  of  a 
priceless  jewel,  enhance  her  brilliant  beauty !" 

"But,  Marquis,"  interjected  Alicia,  with  a  charm- 
ing pout,  "you  have  described  the  typical  American 
girl  and  she  is  always  a  blonde,  while  poor  me,  I  am 
a  brunette,  with  a  skin  as  dark " 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,"  he  interrupted,  with  a  Louis 
XIV  bow,  "do  not  disparage  yourself.  Mademoi- 
selle Chubb  has  the  beaute  de  diable  which  in  many 


56         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

eyes  is  even  more  attractive  than  the  fair,  angel's 
face " 

"Such  as  you  would  imply  I  possess,"  merrily  in- 
terposed Gladys.  "Ah,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  even 
you  Frenchmen,  with  all  your  savoir  faire,  are  not 
able  to  compliment  one  lady  but  at  the  expense  of 
another." 

"Pardon,  mademoiselle,"  he  quickly  retorted,  "I 
did  not  imply  my  own  particular  preference." 

He  accompanied  the  words  with  a  look  which 
made  Gladys  feel  slightly  uncomfortable,  and  she 
would  have  hastened  to  change  the  topic  of  conver- 
sation had  not  the  approach  of  a  servant  obviated 
the  necessity. 

He  came  to  announce  that  her  brother  had  arrived 
and  was  in  his  room  changing  his  traveling  clothes 
for  evening  dress. 

"Harold !"  she  cried.  "Home  at  last !  Oh,  I  must 
rush  to  greet  him !  Marquis,  excuse  me  for  a  few 
minutes.  The  girl  with  the  beaute  de  diable  will  en- 
tertain you  until  I  return  with  my  brother." 

"I,  too,  shall  be  glad  to  greet  Monsieur  Armytage 
and  renew  our  Paris  acquaintance,"  said  the  Mar- 
quis. 


57 

"Alicia,  please  inform  the  guests  and  bid  them 
assemble  in  the  drawing-room.  We  will  be  down  in 
fifteen  minutes." 

Alicia  had  turned  first  pale,  then  crimson,  on  hear- 
ing of  Harold's  arrival.  The  moment  she  had  longed 
for  during  the  last  three  years  had  come.  She  was 
soon  to  meet  him  again ;  one  look  into  his  eyes  would 
tell  her  whether  her  heart's  desire  would  be  realized 
or  her  hopes  be  blighted  forever.  Now  that  the 
supreme  moment  had  arrived  she  was  glad  that  pro- 
priety forbade  her  rushing  off  with  Gladys  and  greet- 
ing Harold  with  all  the  familiarity  of  the  olden  days. 
She  preferred  to  read  her  fate  in  the  open  glare  of 
the  gas  lights  and  amid  a  crowd  which  would  impose 
a  feeling  of  self-restraint  on  her  impetuous  nature. 

She,  therefore,  readily  acquiesced  in  Gladys'  re- 
quest and  she  and  the  Marquis  moved  away  to  per- 
form the  service  asked  of  her,  while  Gladys,  whose 
sole  human  passion  was  her  absorbing  love  for  her 
brother,  rushed  out  of  the  conservatory  up  a  flight 
of  stairs  to  the  suite  of  apartments  set  aside  for  the 
young  heir. 

Harold  had  donned  his  dress  trousers  and  shirt 
with  the  aid  of  his  valet,  and  was  adjusting  his  white 


58         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

lawn  tie  when  his  sister  knocked  at  the  door  of  his 
room. 

"It  is  I,  Gladys,"  she  announced;  "may  I  come 
in?" 

"Open  the  door,  Parker,"  said  Harold,  "it's  Sis." 

While  the  servant  went  to  execute  the  order  the 
young  millionaire  tourist  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  as 
his  sister  came  rushing  into  the  room,  he  received 
her  with  outstretched  arms. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad  to  see  you,"  murmured 
Gladys,  after  the  first  outburst  of  emotion,  wiping 
the  tears  from  her  eyes.  "I  was  beginning  to  fear 
you  would  never  come  home  again." 

"Say,  Gladys,  you  must  excuse  my  undress  uni- 
form," he  said,  as  he  kissed  her  again  and  again. 
"I  didn't  want  to  keep  you  waiting  while  I  donned 
my  vest  and  coat.  So  this  is  the  little  girl  I  left  at 
school  three  years  ago,"  .he  continued,  holding  her 
off  at  arm's  length  the  better  to  survey  her.  "My, 
and  what  a  wonderful  toilet." 

"Come,  don't  poke  fun  at  me  right  off,"  she  re- 
joined with  a  happy  laugh.  "Wait  till  you  see  Ali- 
cia, then  you'll  see  what  real  beauty  is." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say,"  he  replied  indifferently.    "When 


THE  HEIR'S  RETURN  59 

I  left  she  had  in  her  the  making  of  a  very  lovely 
woman,  though  I  can't  say  that  I  admire  brunettes 
very  much." 

Alas,  poor  Alicia ! 

"I  suppose  she  is  here,"  he  added. 

"Yes,  and  any  number  of  other  guests  besides,  all 
waiting  to  greet  the  prodigal  on  his  return  and  to 
partake  of  the  fatted  calf  in  the  shape  of  a  dinner  pre- 
pared in  his  honor." 

"Not  altogether  in  my  honor,"  he  rejoined  with  a 
smile.  "If  I  remember  rightly  my  little  sister  has 
come  of  age  to-day." 

"Then  you  must  stop  calling  me  your  little  sis- 
ter," she  laughed.  "I  am  above  the  average  height 
of  girls,  almost  as  tall  as  you,  and  you're  a  six- 
footer.  But  come,  hurry  up  with  your  dressing. 
They're  all  waiting  downstairs  for  us." 

"And  who  are  the  'all'?"  he  asked  as  his  valet 
handed  him  his  vest  to  put  on. 

"Oh,  I  can't  bother  to  tell  you  now.  You'll  know 
most  everybody.  I  think  you  even  know  the  Mar- 
quis de  Belle-Riviere,  who  is  one  of  our  guests  this 
evening." 

"Yes,  if  it's  Etienne;  I  made  his  acquaintance  in 


60    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Paris.  A  high  liver  and  not  exactly  a  saint,  but 
about  as  good  a  chap  as  titled  Frenchmen  generally 
are." 

"You  have  heard  nothing  derogatory  about  him  ?" 

"No,  not  that  I  can  say.  He  puts  up  a  pretty  stiff 
game  at  ecarte  and  has  quite  an  expensive  stable, 
but  that's  nothing  more  than  can  be  alleged  against 
hundreds  of  other  men  in  his  circle  of  life.  But  why 
do  you  ask?"  he  questioned,  gazing  quizzically  at 
her.  "Are  you  interested  in  him  ?" 

"In  him  personally  not  a  bit,"  she  candidly  con- 
fessed— "he  was  introduced  to  me  only  an  hour  ago 
— in  his  title,  yes.  The  Belle-Rivieres  are  a  grand 
and  noble  family.  They  have  helped  to  make  the 
history  of  France.  You  know,"  she  added  confiden- 
tially, "I  always  was  a  great  lover  of  titles." 

Harold  burst  out  laughing. 

"I'm  afraid  my  little — I  mean  my  big  sister,"  he 
said,  "isn't  much  of  a  democrat." 

"No,"  she  admitted,  with  an  air  of  supreme  dis- 
dain, "I  don't  like  common  people." 

By  this  time  her  brother  had  completed  his  toilet 
and,  taking  his  sister  by  the  hand,  they  left  the  roqrn 


THE  HEIR'S  RETURN  61 

together  and  descended  the  broad  staircase  leading  to 
the  drawing-room. 

There  Harold  was  greeted  effusively  on  all  sides 
and  welcomed  home,  many  complimenting1  him  on 
his  splendid  physical  appearance.  And,  indeed,  he 
never  had  looked  better  in  his  life ;  the  touch  of  ef- 
feminacy which  had  marked  his  looks  had  given 
way  to  robust  manhood  under  the  influence  of  his 
three  years'  tour  on  land  and  sea.  In  spite  of  his 
conventional  evening  dress,  relieved  only  by  a  bouton- 
niere  of  lilies-of-the-valley,  his  figure  of  an  athlete, 
broad  shoulders,  fair  Saxon  face  and  wavy,  golden 
hair  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  Norse  god. 

So  at  least  he  seemed  to  the  eyes  of  Alicia,  who 
was  among  the  last  to  press  forward  with  her  good 
wishes,  and  who  kept  furtively  gazing  at  him  while 
he  chided  her  for  her  tardiness  in  coming  forward 
to  greet  him,  and  recounted  to  her  their  childhood's 
pranks  and  follies  in  the  same  familiar  way.  She 
knew,  she  instinctively  felt,  that  he  was  not  im- 
pressed with  her  added  beauty,  that  no  tender  recol- 
lection of  her  had  beguiled  him  during  his  absence 
or  stirred  his  heart,  as  hers  was  stirred  at  this  mo- 
ment when  they  met  again. 


62         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"He  does  not  love  me,"  she  murmured  as  she 
turned  from  him  to  mingle  with  the  throng.  "But 
shall  I  despair?  No,  no.  His  heart  may  be  but 
sleeping  and  I  may  yet  find  the  magic  wand  that 
shall  awaken  it.  I'll  not  surrender  him  until  I  have 
found  a  rival — and,  perhaps,  not  even  then." 

Harold's  greeting  with  the  Marquis  de  Belle- 
Riviere  was  cordial  and  friendly,  while  the  latter 
begged  for  a  continuance  of  the  acquaintance  so 
auspiciously  begun  in  Paris.  He  explained  his  pres- 
ence in  this  country  to  a  desire  to  view  the  wonders 
of  the  new  world. 

"And  which  wonder  do  you  think  you  will  find  the 
greatest?"  asked  Harold. 

"Its  beautiful  women,"  frankly  admitted  the  Mar- 
quis. 

Remembering  what  his  sister  had  told  him  about 
her  penchant  for  titles,  Harold  gazed  after  the 
Marquis  when  he  had  passed  to  make  room  for  the 
others,  and  then,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  muttered : 

"Ah,  well,  it's  none  of  my  affair.  My  sister  is 
old  enough  to  know  her  own  mind." 

Mr.  Silas  Chubb  presented  the  Recorder. 

"This  is  indeed  an  honor,"  said  Harold,  as  he 


THE  HEIR'S   RETURN  63 

shook  hands  with  the  distinguished  magistrate. 
"Your  Honor's  fame  as  an  upright  judge  is  not 
limited  by  the  shores  of  our  native  land.  Both  in 
England  and  France  I  have  heard  the  Recorder  of 
the  City  of  New  York  praised  for  the  soundness  c*f 
his  decisions  and  his  profound  learning  as  a  jurist." 

"We've  had  an  example  of  it  this  very  day," 
chimed  in  Mr.  Chubb.  "He  has  sentenced  to  be 
electrocuted  one  of  our  own  men  convicted  of  mur- 
der in  the  first  degree." 

"Indeed !"  exclaimed  Harold,  greatly  surprised  at 
the  information.  "One  of  our  own  men  a  convicted 
murderer !" 

"Mr.  Chubb  ought  not  to  have  referred  to  the 
matter,"  said  the  magistrate.  "This  is  hardly  an 
occasion  to  speak  about  such  things.  As  to  your 
courteous  allusions  to  me,  I  can  only  say  that  as 
a  magistrate  I  always  try  to  do  my  duty  as  my 
conscience  dictates." 

Harold  would  have  liked  to  inquire  further  about 
this  murder,  but  just  then  the  silken  portieres,  which 
separated  the  exquisite  dining-room  from  the  draw- 
ing-room, were  swept  aside  and  dinner  was  an- 
nounced. 


64    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

When  the  guests  had  all  been  seated  at  the  places 
assigned  to  them,  Harold  was  glad  to  find  that  he  had 
the  Recorder  for  his  vis-a-vis. 

"It  may  not  be  good  form,"  he  muttered,  "but  my 
curiosity  is  piqued  and  I  shall  find  out  something 
more  about  this  murder  before  we  leave  the  table." 


A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST  65 


CHAPTER  VI 
A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST 

OING,  O  Muse,  of  the  famous  dinner  served  that 
^  evening  at  the  home  of  the  Armytages — of  the 
feastings  and  drinkings,  of  the  silver  and  gold  serv- 
ices, the  costly  china  and  the  scintillating  glass,  of 
the  fine  linen  and  flowers,  of  the  decorations  and  gen- 
eral gorgeousness — all  representing  an  outlay  of 
money  sufficient  to  fill  ten  thousand  empty  stomachs ! 
Come,  ye  hungry  and  homeless  ones,  and  delight 
your  eyes  and  let  your  mouths  water  while  before 
your  vision  unfolds  |he  splendor  of  the  spectacle  and 
the  magnificence  of  the  banquet ! 

The  dining-room  was  amply  large  to  hold  with- 
out crowding  the  six  tables,  set  for  eight  persons 
each.  Its  hard-polished  parquette  floor,  where  it 
was  not  covered  with  tiger  skins,  glistened  in  the 
light  of  the  great  crystal  candelabra  pendant  from  the 


66    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

high,  elaborately  frescoed  ceiling.  On  the  walls  were 
inlaid  panels  depicting  hunting  and  fishing  scenes 
and  fantasies  of  fruits  and  flowers,  all  painted  by 
famous  artists.  The  furniture  was  of  old  Flemish 
oak,  each  table  or  chair  a  masterpiece  of  exquisite 
carving. 

A  well-known  caterer  had  been  given  carte- 
blanche,  and  where  the  house  itself  possessed  the  re- 
sources in  rare  silver,  costly  china,  scintillating  glass 
and  fine  damask  as  did  this  residence,  where  lavish 
expenditure  was  combined  with  artistic  taste  in  the 
preparation  of  a  banquet,  the  result  was  necessarily 
a  poem  in  gastronomic  art. 

Each  of  the  six  tables  presented  some  distinctive 
feature.  The  center  of  one  had  been  fashioned  into 
a  grotto,  where  natural  palms  and  lilies  grew  in 
apparent  profusion ;  another  table  had  on  it  a  minia- 
ture lake  of  real  water  in  which  a  live  swan  disported 
itself;  still  another  represented  a  life-like  scene  of 
a  cotton  plantation ;  a  fourth  had  in  its  center  a  dwarf 
cherry  tree,  its  branches  loaded  with  ripe,  red  cher- 
ries, which  the  diners  could  pluck  and  eat  at  their 
pleasure ;  at  another  table  was  a  similarly  constituted 
orange  tree,  while  at  the  principal  table,  probably  in 


A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST  67 

delicate  allusion  to  the  source  of  all  this  display  of 
wealth,  was  a  miniature  printing  press,  fashioned  of 
glass,  kept  in  active  motion  by  electric  power  and 
printing  souvenir  menus  of  the  banquet. 

Flowers  and  plants  were  in  profusion  everywhere. 
Tall,  stately  palms  reared  their  foliage-crowned 
heads  in  the  corners  of  the  room;  ropes  of  smilax 
intertwined  with  American  Beauty  roses  formed  gar- 
lands on  the  walls  and  streamed  thence  to  the  central 
chandelier,  making  a  fragrant  green  and  crimson 
canopy  under  which  the  guests  sat ;  there  were  large 
bunches  of  flowers  at  either  end  of  each  table,  while 
at  each  plate  was  a  magnificent  corsage  bouquet  for 
the  ladies  or  a  dainty  boutonniere  for  the  gentle- 
men. 

All  through  the  dinner  the  dulcet  strains  of  a  hid- 
den orchestra  quivered  on  the  heavy,  perfumed  air — 
too  faint  to  interrupt  the  steady  flow  of  conversation, 
yet  sufficient,  with  the  added  fragrance  of  the  flow- 
ers, to  steep  the  soul  in  a  sense  of  delicious  languor. 

And  now  enter  the  waiters,  and  the  service 
begins.  French  delicacies  vie  with  American  spe- 
cialties; exquisite  glasses  are  emptied  of  costly 


68         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

liqueurs  and  glorious  vintages,  which,  in  their  native 
Rhineland,  are  reserved  for  royalty. 

A  general  sense  of  hilarity  now  seizes  the  diners ; 
the  conversation  becomes  more  animated,  while  eyes 
sparkle  and  from  lips  that  have  only  smiled  laughter 
comes  until  the  orchestra  strains  are  no  longer  heard 
in  the  din  of  merriment  that  prevails. 

As  yet  the  banquet  is  barely  half  finished;  there 
are  several  cantos  in  this  poem  of  the  cuisine  still  to 
come,  although  the  party  is  becoming  satiated,  and 
ordinary  mortals  would  fain  pause  here;  but  the 
French  caterer  has  provided  for  this  emergency.  He 
knows  how  to  whet  the  jaded  appetite  for  what  is 
to  come  with  the  next  course ;  he  orders  the  Sherbet 
d  la  Romaine  to  be  served.  Wonderful  dish  this 
sherbet  is.  It  delights  the  eyes  as  well  as  removes 
every  sense  of  satiety  as  you  eat  a  spoonful  of  the 
deliciously  flavored  ice.  It  has  been  the  overture,  so 
to  speak,  of  this  gastronomic  epic. 

The  roasted  peacock  of  Lucullus  is  replaced  in 
modern  times  by  the  canvas-back  duck  from  the 
waters  of  the  Chesapeake,  where,  in  anticipation  of 
its  manifest  destiny,  it  has  flavored  its  own  meat  by 
a  diet  of  wild  celery.  It  is  now  brought  to  the  table 


A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST  69 

in  the  style  of  Lucullus — that  is,  with  feathers, 
wings  and  tail  all  replaced  to  give  it  an  appearance 
of  life,  resting  on  a  lake  of  bluish-green  jelly,  out  of 
which  protrude  rocks  of  brown-tinted  fried  hominy. 
Two  birds  are  placed  on  each  table,  and,  after  they 
have  been  duly  admired,  they  are  stripped  of  their 
finery  and  served. 

The  piece  de  resistance  has  been  partaken  of,  and 
the  poem  draws  to  a  close  with  ices,  cakes  and  fruits. 
Cordials  are  now  passed,  and  the  connoisseurs  decide 
their  preference.  After  the  service  of  the  cheese 
and  coffee  this  Belshazzar-like  feast  comes  to  an  end, 
and  the  diners,  with  what  mentality  is  left  to  them, 
turn  to  listen  to  whatever  entertainment  has  been 
provided. 

The  personages  of  this  drama  of  real  life  who 
more  particularly  interest  us  were  seated  at  the  prin- 
cipal table,  the  one  containing  the  miniature  glass 
printing  press.  By  a  sort  of  tacit  consent  Mr.  Silas 
Chubb  had  taken  the  head  of  the  table  and  thus  con- 
stituted himself  master  of  ceremonies  of  the  ban- 
quet. With  characteristic  modesty  Harold  Army- 
tage  had  chosen  the  foot  of  the  table ;  at  his  side  were 
arranged  vis-a-vis  the  Recorder  and  Mrs.  Chubb ;  to 


70 

the  right  and  left  respectively  of  the  general  mana- 
ger, Gladys  Armytage  and  the  Marquis  de  Belle- 
Riviere,  and  Miss  Alicia  Chubb  with  one  of  the 
omnipresent  "Willie-boys." 

What  did  they  talk  about  while  the  gorging  was 
in  progress?  About  everything  and  yet  nothing; 
the  latest  picture  in  the  Academy,  and  the  prospect 
of  the  automobiles,  of  which  the  earliest  types  had 
just  been  shown  on  the  boulevards  of  Paris,  ever 
becoming  a  fashionable  mode  of  conveyance ;  Zola's 
newest  literary  shock  to  the  sensitive  nerves  of  socie- 
ty, and  the  virtues  of  Vanderbilt's  new  chef,  just 
imported  from  abroad;  the  duty  of  the  wealthy  to 
ameliorate  the  condition  of  the  poor  and  the  marked 
improvement  in  breeding  horses  and  dogs  that  had 
been  attained  since  horse-shows  and  dog-shows  had 
become  fashionable  functions;  the  tenement  house 
problem  in  New  York,  and  the  wonderful  natural 
beauties  of  Tuxedo  Park,  then  recently  opened  to 
the  circles  of  wealth  and  fashion.  Oh,  yes,  they 
touched  on  almost  every  topic  imaginable,  including 
any  amount  of  society  scandal,  but  sounded  the 
depths  of  none,  skimming  over  the  surface  of  dan- 
gerous subjects  like  sea-gulls  over  the  tempestuous 


A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST  71 

waves  \\lthout  getting  a  drop  of  moisture  on  their 
fine  plumage. 

Miss  Chubb  was  an  adept  at  this  sort  of  thing, 
which  is  known  as  society  small-talk,  and  the  liveli- 
ness of  the  party  was  mainly  due  to  her  bright,  witty 
sayings,  her  aptness  of  repartee  and  her  general  vi- 
vacity. The  Marquis  was  a  good  second  to  her,  his 
Gallic  sprightliness  finding  itself  in  a  congenial  at- 
mosphere in  her  presence.  He  ate  and  drank  very 
sparingly,  for  your  true  Frenchman  is  not  a  gour- 
mand, and,  while  he  can  and  does  provide  a  twenty- 
course  dinner  with  wine  for  others,  contents  him- 
self with  a  dainty  bit  or  two  and  a  glass  of  his  fa- 
vorite beverage. 

He  had  thus  time  to  make  observations.  With  a 
calculating  eye  he  estimated  the  costliness  of  his  sur- 
roundings while  his  mind  was  enchanted  with 
Alicia's  piquant  sallies.  The  conclusion  he  inwardly 
came  to  was  that  the  ideal  wife  for  him  would  be  a 
girl  who  would  combine  Gladys'  fortune,  charm  and 
grace  with  Alicia's  mental  alertness.  As  the  com- 
bination was  impossible  he  decided  in  favor  of  the 
heiress,  and,  with  a  look  which  Gladys  could  not 
help  but  understand,  informed  her  of  his  decision. 


72         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Gladys  knew  in  that  moment  as  well  as  if  he  had 
made  the  declaration  in  words  that,  if  she  so  desired, 
she  could  be  the  Marquise  de  Belle-Riviere  now  and 
the  Duchesse  de  Belle-Riviere  when  the  aged  head  of 
the  family  was  laid  to  rest  with  his  sires.  As  she 
gazed  at  the  callow,  sap-headed  youths  in  the  room 
who  were  to  be  the  men  of  affairs  of  the  future  and 
mentally  compared  them  with  her  brother  and  the 
Marquis  she  wondered  why  not  one  of  them  was 
the  equal  of  the  former  in  anything  that  went  to 
make  up  her  ideal  of  American  manhood,  or  was  so 
inferior  to  the  latter  in  the  general  attributes  of  a 
man  of  the  world.  If  she  could  find  an  American 
gentleman  who  was  the  equal  in  her  eyes  of  Harold 
Armytage,  well  and  good — if  not,  rather  than  marry 
one  of  these  incipient  coal  barons,  sugar  kings  or 
pickle  manufacturers,  she  would  prefer  to  marry  a 
foreign  nobleman  like  the  Marquis  and  once  for  all 
get  out  of  this  atmosphere  of  the  newly-rich,  with  its 
flamboyant  ignorance  and  vulgarity. 

These  were  dangerous  thoughts  for  a  young  wom- 
an to  have  on  the  celebration  of  her  coming  of  age, 
especially  as  the  question  of  love  formed  no  part  of 


A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST  73 

them.     Her  heart  was  asleep;  what  if  it  became 
awakened  after  she  had  made  her  choice? 

Harold's  thoughts  during  the  banquet  were  of  a 
somewhat  similar  strain.  Back  from  the  elegant 
simplicity  of  the  higher  circles  in  Europe  in  which 
he  had  moved  during  the  last  three  years,  he  won- 
dered why  it  was  considered  good  form  in 
American  society  to  have  such  spreads  as  these.  This 
ostentatious  display  of  wealth  hurt  his  sensitive 
nerves,  the  more  so,  perhaps,  because  it  was  his  own 
and  his  sister's.  Was  it  done,  he  wondered,  for  the 
purpose  of  making  people  forget  that  his  father  was 
a  self-made  man,  who  had  earned  his  dollar-a-day 
wages  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow  when  he  first 
came  to  this  country?  He,  Harold,  had  never 
been  ashamed  of  that  fact.  If  anything,  he  now  re- 
proached himself  with  having  lived  such  a  life  of 
ease  and  indolence  on  the  wealth  accumulated  for 
him  by  his  father,  and  being  increased  day  by  day 
by  the  thousands  who  were  toiling  for  him  in  the 
Works.  What  was  it  the  Recorder  had  said  about 
the  duty  of  the  wealthy  to  ameliorate  the  condition 
of  the  poor?  He  would  like  to  have  that  distin- 
guished jurist  say  more  on  the  subject  when  he  was 


74    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

called  up,  as  he  would  be,  to  make  an  after-dinner 
speech.  Somehow  Harold  felt  that  he  had  been 
derelict  in  his  duty  or  there  would  have  been  no 
strike  at  the  Works ;  no  murder  would  have  followed, 
and  one  of  his  own  workmen  would  not  that  day 
have  been  condemned  to  the  electric  chair.  He 
would  like  to  see  that  man — hear  his  story  from  his 
own  lips. 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  at  this  point  by 
Mr.  Silas  Chubb  rising  to  his  feet  to  call  the  assem- 
blage to  order. 

It  was  not  an  easy  thing  for  Mr.  Chubb  to  accom- 
plish this,  for  the  worthy  gentleman  had  done  am- 
pler justice  to  the  various  wines  than  to  the  food, 
and  found  his  feet  rather  stubborn,  and  his  tongue 
with  a  tendency  to  cling  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 
Still  this  little  eccentricity  passed  off  unnoticed  in 
the  general  hilariousness  of  the  audience,  which, 
after  some  difficulty,  Mr.  Chubb  reduced  to  a  sem- 
blance of  decorum. 

After  a  reference  to  the  occasion  which  they  were 
celebrating  that  evening  and  a  few  complimentary 
phrases  to  Gladys  and  Harold,  Mr.  Chubb  pro- 
ceeded : 


A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST  75 

"We  have  the  honor  of  having  with  us  this  even- 
ing that  eminent  jurist  and  distinguished  magistrate, 
the  Recorder  of  the  City  of  New  York,  and  in  call- 
ing on  him  to  address  us,  I  believe  I  am  expressing 
the  desire  of  the  leading  representatives  of  finance, 
railroads  and  commerce  gathered  at  these  tables  to 
hear  from  him  how,  as  a  stern  and  upright  judge,  he 
has  this  very  day  done  his  share  in  stemming  the 
tide  of  communism  and  anarchy  which  threatened 
to  sweep  away  the  very  foundations  of  law  and  or- 
der. Ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  Recorder." 

If  his  brain  had  not  been  slightly  affected  by  the 
wine  he  had  drunk,  Mr.  Chubb  probably  would  not 
have  broached  a  subject  which  was  so  utterly  out 
of  place,  and  the  announcement  of  which  filled  with 
dismay  the  hearts  of  those  present  who  would  have 
preferred  something  in  the  nature  of  a  vaudeville 
show  with  decollete  trimmings.  The  presence  of  the 
ladies  and  of  His  Honor,  the  Recorder,  naturally, 
however,  forbade  the  introduction  at  this  dinner  of 
what  was  then  and  still  is  a  great  society  fad. 

The  Recorder  felt  that  he  had  been  placed  in  an 
embarrassing  position,  but  got  out  of  it  by  declining 
to  detail  the  circumstances  of  the  trial  over  which  he 


76    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

had  presided — much  to  the  disappointment  of  Har- 
old— and  confining  himself  to  a  statement  of  what 
was  the  best  way  to  counteract  this  spirit  of  com- 
munism and  lawlessness,  which  he  declared  perme- 
ated the  working  classes. 

"You,  gentlemen  of  wealth  and  leisure,"  he  said 
among  other  things,  "should  be  the  instruments  to 
accomplish  this  great  work  of  making  the  humbler 
classes  content  with  the  lot  in  which  it  has  pleased 
Providence  to  place  them.  I  have  spoken  to  Mr. 
Armytage  during  the  dinner  here  about  the  duty 
the  rich  owe  to  the  poor,  and  I  will  say  a  few  words 
on  that  subject  to  you  millionaire  railroad  men  and 
captains  of  industry.  You  should  look  upon  the 
wealth  which  has  come  to  you  by  reason  of  your 
superior  intelligence  and  activity  as  a  divinely  com- 
missioned trust  which  you  are  to  administer  with  a 
due  sense  of  your  responsibility  to  the  God  who 
gave  it  to  you.  Remember  that  a  tenth  of  all  you 
have  is  the  Lord's,  and  distribute  it  in  the  cause  of 
religion  and  charity.  Seek  out  the  poor  and  lowly, 
use  your  own  superabundance  to  make  their  lives 
more  comfortable  and  happy,  and,  believe  me,  dis- 
content and  disorder  will  disappear.  At  the  ex- 


A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST  77 

pense  of  one-tenth  of  your  fortune  you  will  preserve 
to  yourselves  the  other  nine-tenths." 

He  sat  down  amid  a  whirlwind  of  applause,  in 
which,  however,  Harold  Armytage  did  not  join. 
There  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  false  factor  in  this  easy 
solution  of  such  a  serious  problem.  He  did  not  like 
the  idea  that  he  was  the  steward  of  his  own  riches.  If 
he  was,  then  all  the  poor,  all  the  wretched  and  un- 
fortunate had  a  right  to  call  him  to  a  rigid  account 
of  his  stewardship.  Neither  did  he  like  the  mer- 
cenary idea  of  buying  immunity  for  himself  and  his 
fortune  at  the  price  of  one-tenth  of  his  estate  or  of 
any  other  fraction  of  it.  Not  only  was  it  greedy  and 
selfish  as  far  as  the  rich  were  concerned,  but  it 
savored  also  of  coercion  and  blackmail  on  the  part 
of  those  who  were  to  benefit  by  such  a  scheme. 

"There  must  be  some  other  way  out,"  he  muttered 
to  himself.  "Would  that  I  could  find  some  one  to 
point  it  out  to  me." 

Was  it  in  answer  to  his  wish  that  at  that  moment 
the  butler  nudged  his  elbow  and  whispered  to  him 
that  there  was  a  priest  in  the  reception-room  who 
said  he  had  come  from  the  Tombs  and  who  earnestly 


78    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

desired  an  interview  with  the  master  in  behalf  of 
the  man  who  had  that  day  been  condemned  to  death  ? 
This  information  went  through  Harold's  frame 
like  a  thrill  of  electricity.  Here  was  the  very  man 
coming  to  tell  the  very  thing  he  most  wished  to 
know.  He  half  rose  to  follow  the  butler  into  the 
reception-room;  then,  as  he  surveyed  the  remnants 
of  the  feast,  the  half-emptied  bottles  and  glasses,  the 
heated  faces  of  the  banqueters,  the  atmosphere  of 
luxuriousness  and  dissipation,  if  not  actual  debauch- 
ery, which  hovered  all  around  him,  he  was  irresist- 
ibly reminded  of  Belshazzar's  feast,  and  mechanic- 
ally gazed  at  the  opposite  wall  as  if  expecting  to  see 
there  in  letters  of  fire :  Mene,  Mene,  Tekel  Upharsin! 

This  priest,  bursting  in  on  this  assemblage,  would 
be  like  the  coming  of  Daniel  to  the  wine-inflamed 
Babylonian  king  and  his  cohorts.  Yes,  he  would  have 
him  up  here.  If  for  no  other  reason,  it  would  give 
a  dramatic  touch  to  an  otherwise  insipid  affair. 

"Bring  the  priest  up  here,"  he  whispered  to  the 
butler,  and  resumed  his  seat. 

A  minute  or  two  later  the  butler  ushered  into  the 
banquet-hall  a  tall,  muscular  man,  with  cleanshaven 


A  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST  79 

face  and  tonsured  head,  clad  in  the  solemn  habili- 
ments of  the  Catholic  priesthood. 
It  was  the  Soggarth  Aroon. 


8o 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SOGGARTH  AROON 

IT  E  who  was  known  as  the  Soggarth  Aroon,  or 
*  *  the  Priest  of  the  People,  is  too  recently  de- 
ceased to  require  more  than  a  passing  tribute  to  his 
memory.  If  ever  a  man  was  called  of  God  to  spread 
the  benign  influence  of  religion  among  the  masses, 
to  comfort  the  sick  and  needy,  to  dry  the  tears  of 
the  widow  and  orphan,  to  preach  the  gospel  of  hope 
to  the  despairing — he  was  the  man.  Assigned  to  a 
parish  wherein  the  poor  were  counted  by  thousands 
and  the  wealthy  of  his  faith  were  few,  he  demanded 
of  the  latter  that  they  should  give  of  their  super- 
abundant means  to  the  many  charities  he  instituted 
and  to  the  upbuilding  of  the  church  of  which  he  was 
the  beloved  pastor.  As  for  himself,  he  asked  for 
nothing,  he  wanted  nothing  but  the  barest  subsist- 
ence, a  simple  cot  whereon  to  sleep,  the  most  frugal 


THE  SOGGARTH  AROON  81 

of  meals  and  a  clerical  attire  that  often  was  permitted 
to  become  threadbare  and  shiny  from  use  before  it 
was  renewed. 

He  came  to  his  church  to  find  it  attended  mainly 
by  the  poor,  with  a  scant  treasury  and  insignificant 
in  influence.  After  devoting  the  best  years  of  his 
life  to  its  upbuilding,  he  surrendered  it  to  his  suc- 
cessor at  the  request  of  his  superiors,  one  of  the 
most  powerful  and  wealthy  congregations  in  the  City 
of  New  York.  That  day  of  separation  not  only 
parted  him  from  those  who  knew  him  best  and  loved 
him  most,  but  also,  for  the  time  being,  put  him  be- 
yond the  pale  of  the  church  he  so  dearly  loved. 
From  that  hour  his  field  of  action  became  world- 
wide ;  the  entire  universe  became  his  parish. 

Denied  the  right  to  administer  the  holy  sacrament 
in  his  church,  he  preached  to  a  greater  multitude 
from  the  platform  and  through  the  public  press; 
preached  the  simple  doctrine  of  the  Golden  Rule  and 
of  the  Brotherhood  of  Man  under  the  Fatherhood 
of  God.  And  the  multitude  heard  him  gladly.  Be- 
fore his  death  he  was  restored  to  the  bosom  of  the 
Church.  As  an  obedient  son,  he  went  to  a  small 
parish  in  an  interior  city,  where  he  continued  doing 


82    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

good  in  his  restricted  sphere  of  action  until  he  was 
wafted  up  by  the  Angel  of  Death  to  the  Heaven  he 
had  assuredly  earned.  It  was  while  the  Soggarth 
Aroon  was  under  the  ban  of  the  Church  and  devot- 
ing a  portion  of  his  time  comforting  those  who  were 
in  prison,  that  he  entered  the  courtroom  just  as  Jack 
McQuillan,  the  striker,  had  been  convicted  of  murder 
and  sentenced  to  death.  He  it  was  who  raised  Mag- 
gie's head  on  his  knee  when  the  poor  girl  swooned  at 
hearing  her  brother's  doom.  He  remained  with  her 
in  the  courtroom  after  all  the  rest,  except  a  couple 
of  court  officers,  had  been  requested  to  leave,  and, 
with  the  assistance  of  the  officers,  bathed  the  girl's 
forehead  and  fanned  her  until  consciousness  re- 
turned. 

When  Maggie  opened  her  eyes  again  and  partly 
raised  herself  up,  supported  by  the  priest,  she  gave  a 
wild,  bewildered  gaze  about  her,  then,  remembering 
where  she  was  and  what  had  happened,  she  burst 
into  tears  and  cried : 

"Oh,  Jack,  Jack,  they've  gone  and  done  it,  an' 
he  saJJ  as  how  they  wouldn't!" 

The  Soggarth  Aroon  had  been  informed  by  the 
court  officers  who  she  was,  and  he  deeply  sympa- 


THE  SOGGARTH  AROON  83 

thized  with  her,  though  he  did  not  quite  comprehend 
her  somewhat  incoherent  words. 

"My  poor  girl,"  he  said  in  that  rich,  mellow  voice 
for  which  he  was  noted  and  which  always  went 
straight  to  the  heart  of  the  person  addressed,  "I  can 
feel  for  you.  But  take  courage;  all  is  not  yet  lost. 
Your  brother's  case  can  be  appealed,  and  as  a  last 
resort  you  can  apply  to  the  Governor." 

Maggie  shook  her  head  disconsolately. 

"What  have  we  poor  people  got  to  do  with  such 
things?"  she  rejoined,  at  the  same  time  releasing 
herself  from  his  supporting  arm  and  struggling  to 
her  feet.  "If  the  lawyers  couldn't  do  nothin'  for 
Jack  at  the  trial,  how  are  we  going  ter  raise  money 
for  an  appeal — an'  all  the  papers  they  tell  me's  got 
ter  be  printed,  too  ?" 

"Say,  Maggie,"  interrupted  one  of  the  court  offi- 
cers, "don't  yer  know  that  the  state  pays  for  all 
that  in  murder  cases  ?" 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  the  other;  "an'  ther  lawyer  wot's 
assigned  by  ther  court  ain't  got  no  right  ter  charge 
for  their  services  neither." 

Maggie  looked  at  the  two  men  in  a  startled  way, 
while  her  face  became  so  pale  that  the  priest  feared 


84    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

she  was  about  to  faint  again.  She,  however,  strug- 
gled against  the  inclination  to  swoon,  and  breath- 
lessly asked : 

"Is  that  true,  father?" 

"I  believe  it  is,  my  child,"  he  answered. 

"An'  I  believed  him,"  she  cried,  wringing  her 
hands,  "when  he  told  me  the  money  was  needed,  and 
that  there  weren't  no  other  way  ter  raise  it.  An'  he 
said  he  had  a  pull  with  ther  court,  too.  Oh,  my 
God — my  God !  Wot  have  I  done  ?" 

She  burst  into  tears  and  sobbed  so  long  and  bit- 
terly that  all  three  men  were  frightened. 

"Calm  yourself,  Maggie,"  soothed  the  priest. 
"You  cannot  help  your  brother  if  you  become  hys- 
terical. Have  courage.  Let  me  be  your  friend  as 
well  as  your  priest.  If  any  money  is  needed  to 
bring  your  brother's  case  to  a  higher  court  or  even 
to  apply  to  the  Governor  of  the  State  for  a  pardon 
or  a  remission  of  the  sentence,  I  will  procure  it  for 
you." 

Maggie  sought  to  dry  her  eyes  and  to  repress  her 
emotion.  She  listened  to  him  with  downcast  head, 
but  the  expression  of  dull  despair  remained  on  her 
face. 


THE  SOGGARTH  AROON  85 

"Oh,  you're  good — so  good,  father!"  she  mur- 
mured, raising  his  hand  and  pressing  it  to  her  lips; 
"but  it's  too  late — too  late  now,"  she  added  with  a 
deep  sigh. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Maggie  ?"  he  asked.  "I  have 
thought  for  some  time  that  you  are  speaking  in  rid- 
dles. You  keep  referring  to  some  mysterious  he 
and  now  you  say  it  is  too  late.  What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"Don't  ask  me — don't  ask  me  now,"  she  replied 
with  a  shudder,  edging  away  from  him.  "Sunday, 
father,  I  will  come  to  you  for  confession  and " 

"Alas,  my  poor  child,"  he  interrupted  with  a  deep 
sigh,  "I  am  no  longer  permitted  to  perform  that 
sacrament." 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  him  or  to  comprehend 
his  meaning,  but  continued : 

"Oh,  why  are  we  kept  ignorant?  If  we  poor  peo- 
ple's got  enny  rights,  why  don't  they  tell  us  of  them  ? 
Wot  should  I  know — a  poor  working-girl  whose 
brother  gets  into  great  trouble — that  ther  law  is  free 
for  us,  that  we  don't  have  to  hire  lawyers  or  pay 
for  pulls?  We  don't  know,  I  didn't  know  it,  an' 


86    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

none  of  my  girl  friends  knew  it.  That's  why  I 
believed  him,  father." 

"Him? — who?"  exclaimed  the  astounded  priest. 

Maggie  gazed  furtively  around  the  empty  court- 
room as  if  she  expected  some  one  of  whom  she  stood 
in  deadly  fear  to  suddenly  arise  before  her. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  she  then  cried.  "I  couldn't,  I 
dassent  tell  yer.  I — I  feel  stronger  now,  father. 
Please  let  me  go  home.  An' — an'  you  see  Jack  an' 
comfort  him.  I  couldn't  bear  to  go  to  him  to-day. 
But  I'll  see  him  before — before  they  takes  him  up 
ther  river.  I — I  will  if — if  he  allows  me  ter." 

And  seemingly  fearful  lest  she  might  be  forced 
to  explain  herself  further,  she  suddenly  again  raised 
the  priest's  hand  to  her  lips,  covered  her  head  with 
her  shawl,  and  fairly  ran  out  of  the  courtroom. 

One  of  the  court  officers  was  about  to  dash  after 
her,  but  the  Soggarth  Aroon  held  him  back  by  a 
gesture  of  his  hand. 

"Let  her  go,"  said  the  good  priest.  "It  is  evident 
she  has  some  private  sorrow  on  her  mind  in  addi- 
tion to  the  terrible  grief  of  knowing  that  her  brother 
has  been  condemned  to  death.  I  will  go  to  see  her 
brother  now.  He  will  give  me  her  address  and  then 


THE  SOGGARTH  AROON  87 

I  will  call  on  her  when  she  is  calmer  and  offer  her 
the  sweet  consolations  of  religion." 

So  saying,  he  left  the  courtroom  and  wended  his 
way  to  the  Tombs.  By  this  time  it  was  already 
dusk  and  the  early  fall  night  was  beginning  to  set 
in.  Unmindful  of  the  fact  that  it  was  the  supper 
hour  he  overcame  whatever  hunger  he  felt  and  pre- 
sented himself  at  the  visitors'  entrance  to  the  prison. 
It  was  of  course  long  past  the  hour  for  visitors  to 
see  their  relatives  or  friends,  but  the  Soggarth  Aroon 
was  so  well  known  to  the  keepers,  and  his  visits  were 
always  so  consoling  to  the  prisoners  that  he  was 
readily  admitted.  A  keeper  conducted  him  to  what 
is  known  as  Murderers'  Row,  and  they  passed  along 
the  row  until  they  came  to  the  cell  occupied  by  the 
doomed  man.  The  light  from  a  gas  jet  in  the  cor- 
ridor sent  a  faint  gleam  between  the  iron  bars  of  the 
gate  and  dimly  illuminated  the  interior.  Jack  Mc- 
Quillan was  sitting  on  the  wooden  shelf  which,  when 
a  mattress  and  quilt  were  spread  on  it,  formed  his 
bed.  His  form  was  drooped  and  he  was  holding 
his  head  between  his  hands  in  a  state  of  extreme 
dejection.  As  the  priest  and  the  keeper  halted 


88         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

before  his  cell  the  convicted  prisoner  raised  his 
pallid  face  and  stared  stupidly  at  them. 

"Here's  the  Soggarth  Aroon  come  to  see  you, 
Jack,"  said  the  keeper. 

"Who's  he?"  asked  the  convict.  "One  of  them 
gospel  sharps  wot's  been  a-comin'  an'  tryin'  ter  con- 
vert me?  I  don't  want  any  of  dem  psalm-singin' 
crew." 

"My  good  man,"  interposed  the  priest,  stepping 
forward  and  speaking  through  the  bars,  "I  do  not 
come  here  to  convert  you.  If  I  understand  rightly 
you  have  already  been  baptized  in  our  holy  religion 
and  are  a  communicant  of  the  true  church.  I  come 
to  you  not  as  a  clergyman  but  as  a  friend  to  utter 
words  of  comfort  and  to  cheer  you,  to  ask  you  not 
to  let  the  weight  of  your  sentence  overwhelm  you, 
but  to  remember  while  there  is  life  there  is  hope." 

"If  dat's  der  kind  of  talk  yer  goin'  ter  give  me,  it's 
all  right.  It's  what  I've  been  hungerin'  an'  thirstin' 
fer  ever  since  they  clapped  me  in  here.  But  I  won't 
stand  for  any  pious  guff.  Me  religion's  me  own.  I 
was  taught  it  by  me  poor  mudder  'fore  she  died, 
when  I  used  to  be  kneelin'  at  her  feet  sayin'  me 
prayers,  an'  I  ain't  forgot  dem  prayers  yet.  This 


here  tryin'  ter  pump  religion  inter  me  makes  me 
sick." 

By  this  time  the  keeper  had  unlocked  the  door  of 
the  cell,  and  the  priest  entered  the  small,  bare  com- 
partment, which  held  a  human  being  who  was  to 
have  the  life  shocked  out  of  him  with  the  fatal  elec- 
tric current.  The  official  was  about  to  leave  the 
two  alone,  but  the  Soggarth  Aroon  bade  him  stay. 

"I  am  not  going  to  administer  the  holy  sacraments 
of  our  faith  to  him,"  he  said.  "I  am,  alas,"  he  added 
with  a  profound  sigh,  "not  permitted  to  do  so;  but 
until  he  is  actually  executed  he  has  a  right  to  confer 
with  his  friends  as  to  such  lawful  measures  as  may 
be  taken  to  avert  his  awful  doom." 

"Dat's  it!"  exclaimed  the  prisoner  eagerly;  "dat's 
wot  I  wants  ter  hear  an'  talk  about.  Dey  had  no 
right  ter  convict  me  of  murder;  I  never  wanted  ter 
kill  dat  dago,  an'  I'll  swear  it  wid  me  dyin'  breath." 

He  sprang  from  his  hard  seat  and  began  to  pace 
agitatedly  up  and  down  the  narrow  cell. 

"I  don't  want  ter  die,"  he  continued.  "I'm  too 
young  ter  die  an'  I've  got  me  sister  Maggie  ter  look 
after.  Poor  goil!  There  was  hard  times  enough 
for  her.  Fust  me  fadder  died  w'en  I  wasn't  more'n 


90 

six  years  old  an'  Maggie  was  only  two;  then  me 
mudder  couldn't  stand  ther  burden  much.  She  took 
in  washin'  an'  ironin',  fer  ter  support  herself  an'  us 
children,  an'  one  day  I  found  her  lyin'  dead  on  de 
floor  beside  de  wash  tub.  De  coroner  said  it  was 
heart  disease  wot  killed  her,  but  dough  I  was  only 
a  boy  den,  I  know'd  better.  It  was  work — work 
from  mornin'  ter  night— dat,  an'  starvation,  fad- 
der " 

He  broke  off  abruptly  and  wiped  a  tear  from  his 
eye  with  the  back  of  his  hands. 

"Starvation!"  repeated  the  Soggarth  Aroon, 
shocked  by  this  revelation. 

"Dat  an'  nothin'  else,"  declared  Jack.  "She  wud- 
dent  trust  herself  ter  eat  a  crust  fer  fear  dat  us 
children  would  go  hungry.  She'd  tell  us  lies,  fad- 
der,  'bout  gettin'  somethin'  ter  eat  at  the  houses  of 
ther  families  wot  she  took  out  washin'  fer,  but  I 
knowed  better.  I  knowed  dey  were  too  pizen  mean 
ter  give  her  anythin'  but  just  what  dey  said  was 
comin'  ter  her  fur  de  washin',  an'  dat  was  blamed 
little." 

"Poor  woman !"  murmured  the  priest.  "Her  pious 
lies  have  been  forgiven  her  at  the  throne  of  grace." 


THE  SOGGARTH  AROON  91 

"After  dey  took  mudder  away  an'  buried  her," 
continued  the  prisoner,  who  seemed  to  be  anxious 
to  tell  his  life  story,  "I  sold  papers  fer  a  time  so's 
ter  keep  Mag  an'  me  from  bein'  sent  ter  de  poor- 
house.  Den  Mr.  Armytage — God  bless  him — got 
interested  in  me  from  buyin'  his  papers  off  me  an' 
give  me  a  job  in  der  works.  Dat's  how  I  come  ter 
be  dere,  fadder,  an'  as  long  as  me  old  boss  was  alive 
dere  never  was  no  trouble.  I  wouldn't  be  here  now 
if  de  old  man  hadn't  died  an'  Mr.  Chubb  hadn't 
took  charge,  an'  I'm  t'inkin'  if  young  Mr.  Armytage 
were  only  home  he'd  do  somethin'  ter  help  me  fer 
the  sake  of  his  dad's  memory." 

"I  have  heard  of  young  Mr.  Armytage,"  said  the 
priest.  "They  say  he  has  never  interested  himself 
in  the  printing  press  works  since  he  arrived  at  his 
majority." 

"Dat's  where  all  de  trouble  comes  from,"  inter- 
jected Jack  McQuillan — "his  not  tendin'  ter  de  busi- 
ness as  he  ought  ter  do,  an'  leavin'  a  man  like  old 
Chubb  to  boss  things.  If  I  could  only  see  him  an' 
tell  him  dat  ter  his  face  it  mightn't  do  me  no  good, 
but  I  t'ink  it'd  stop  dis  strike  an'  give  me  pals  a 


92         THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

chance  ter  go  to  work  again  an'  earn  a  livin'  for 
dere  sufferin'  families.5' 

"It  would  not  be  a  bad  idea,"  musingly  said  the 
Soggarth  Aroon,  "if  a  man  like  Mr.  Armytage 
could  be  brought  face  to  face  with  one  of  his  em- 
ployees, who  has  been  condemned  to  death  for  an 
act  growing  out  of  a  strike  in  his  own  establishment ; 
but  Heaven  only  knows  where  he  is  at  this  moment." 

"Excuse  me,  father,"  interrupted  the  keeper.  "I 
read  a  long  account  in  the  paper  this  evening  about 
Mr.  Armytage  being  expected  home  to-night.  His 
steam  yacht  should  arrive  about  nine  o'clock,  and 
he  is  to  go  to  his  home  on  Fifth  Avenue,  where  a 
reception  is  to  be  given  him." 

"It  is  a  sign  from  Heaven!"  exclaimed  the  good 
father.  "Jack  McQuillan,  I  will  go  for  you  to  this 
Mr.  Armytage.  I  will,  if  necessary,  implore  him 
on  my  knees  to  come  to  see  you  before  you  are  taken 
to  Sing  Sing." 

"Then  he'll  have  to  come  mighty  soon  and  with 
the  proper  credentials,"  declared  the  keeper,  with  a 
skeptical  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "Jack  is  booked 
for  up  the  river  with  the  first  train  in  the  morning; 


THE  SOGGARTH  AROON  93 

I  doubt  if  this  fashionable  gent  will  get  up  early 
enough  to  see  him,  even  if  he  cares  to  come  at  all." 

"Nevertheless,  I  will  go  and  plead  with  him," 
earnestly  said  the  Soggarth  Aroon.  "Heaven  will 
inspire  my  tongue  to  give  utterance  to  the  words  that 
will  enable  me  to  fulfill  my  mission." 

"Oh,  f adder,  if  yer  would  only  go  ter  him  an' 
bring  him  here  I  would  pray  ter  Heaven  ter  shower 
blessin's  on  yer  every  hour  of  the  short  time  I  still 
have  to  live." 

And  that  is  why  the  Soggarth  Aroon  presented 
himself  at  the  midnight  hour  before  the  rev«lers  at 
the  Armytage  residence. 

In  his  eagerness  to  put  this  plan  into  execution  he 
forgot  all  about  asking  Jack  McQuillan  for  his  sis- 
ter's address. 


94 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  PRODUCT  OF  POLITICS 

f^ORLEARS  HOOK  has  now  been  converted 
^-^  into  one  of  the  small  parks  so  fittingly  termed 
the  lungs  of  the  great  city. 

All  day  long  the  children  of  the  surrounding  tene- 
ment houses  disport  on  the  green  grasses,  play  on 
the  graveled  walks,  or  take  a  surreptitious  dive  in 
the  fountain  in  the  summer,  when  the  park  police- 
man is  not  looking;  later,  when  the  shadows  of 
evening  fall,  tired  workingmen  and  their  even  more 
wearied  wives  come  to  rest  on  the  benches  and  to 
lave  in  the  refreshing  breezes  that  blow  from  the 
East  River  so  close  at  hand.  During  the  summer, 
also,  on  certain  evenings  of  the  week  a  band  of  musi- 
cians, paid  for  by  the  city,  plays  popular  airs  in  the 
music-stand,  and  then  Corlears  Hook  Park  becomes 
a  great  outdoor  concert  hall,  in  which  thousands  of 


A  PRODUCT  OF  POLITICS  95 

fresh,  young  voices  join  in  a  mighty  chorus  of  glad- 
some song,  while  in  the  shady  nooks,  not  penetrated 
by  the  glare  of  the  electric  lights,  youthful  lovers 
lurk  to  exchange  secret  hugs  and  kisses. 

It  was  not  thus  in  the  days  when  the  incidents  in 
this  story  took  place.  Where  the  green  sward  now 
smiles  up  to  heaven,  were  darksome  rookeries  down 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  river,  fit  abodes  for  the 
vampires  of  the  underworld  who  flitted  only  by 
night,  concealing  their  crimes  under  the  murky 
waters,  often  reached  by  simply  raising  a  trap-door 
in  the  floor.  Gin-mills  abounded  at  every  corner, 
sapping  the  vitality  and  draining  the  purses  of  the 
already  physically  weak  and  wretchedly  poor  who 
lived  in  the  dreary,  filthy,  unsanitary  quarters  of 
the  neighborhood.  Instead  of  the  merry  laughter 
of  sunny-faced  children  heard  nowadays,  there  came 
but  the  sobs  and  cries  of  some  hapless  child  being 
beaten  by  a  drunken  parent,  or  the  shrieks  for  help 
of  some  unfortunate  wife  in  the  clutches  of  a  rum- 
crazed  husband.  As  a  rule,  the  respectable  poor  did 
not  dare  venture  out  of  the  house  at  night.  The 
poorly  lighted  streets,  and  especially  the  river  front, 
were  given  up  to  gangs  of  thugs  and  ruffians  who 


96    THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

robbed  and  assaulted  passersby,  often  merely  for  the 
price  of  a  can  of  beer. 

These  gangs,  the  principal  one  of  which  was 
known  as  "the  Jacksonians,"  from  the  nearby  Jack- 
son Street,  plied  their  nefarious  trade  with  almost 
absolute  immunity  from  interference  by  the  police, 
on  account  of  the  political  power  they  possessed  in 
the  district.  This  power  consisted  mainly  of  pack- 
ing the  primaries,  while  on  election  day  the  gang 
was  in  its  glory.  They  served  as  district  captains 
and  inspectors  of  election,  and  woe  to  the  unlucky 
wight,  in  those  days  of  voting  bunches  of  ballots, 
who  tried  to  enter  the  polling  place  with  the  wrong 
bunch  in  his  hand.  He  was  slugged  and  mauled, 
his  eyes  were  blackened,  and  he  could  deem  himself 
fortunate  if  he  escaped  with  his  life.  And  all  this 
was  done  under  the  eyes  of  the  police,  for  it,  too, 
was  a  part  of  "the  machine." 

The  leader  of  "the  Jacksonians"  was  a  burly  ruf- 
fian named  Mike  Dempsey,  more  familiarly  known 
as  "Big  Mike"  on  account  of  his  size  and  the  abso- 
lute sway  he  exercised  over  his  fellows.  He  had 
"done  time"  up  the  river  for  breaking  a  man's  jaw 
on  election  day.  But  he  had  been  arrested,  tried, 


A  PRODUCT  OF  POLITICS  9? 

convicted  and  sentenced  during  one  of  the  temporary 
spasms  of  political  reform  which  occasionally  seize 
the  city. 

Now  "the  machine"  was  on  top  again;  Mike's 
term  in  prison  was  cut  short  "on  account  of  good 
behavior,"  and  he  was  back  in  his  native  haunt, 
once  more  the  leader  of  his  gang  and  "in  cahoots," 
as  he  expressed  it,  with  the  Alderman  of  the  dis- 
trict. 

He  boasted  of  his  big  political  pull  and  used  it,  not 
only  to  line  his  pockets  and  secure  immunity  for 
himself,  but  also  to  further  his  love  affairs. 

He  was  the  mysterious  "he"  that  Maggie  Mc- 
Quillan had  referred  to  in  a  manner  so  puzzling  to 
the  good  Soggarth  Aroon,  and  it  was  to  meet  him 
that  she  had  so  precipitously  rushed  out  of  the 
courtroom. 

Both  she  and  Jack  were  denizens  of  Corlears 
Hook.  Not  only  were  the  Armytage  Printing  Press 
Works  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  but  they  had  lived 
in  the  neighborhood  ever  since  their  father  died  and 
their  mother  had  taken  in  washing  for  a  living. 
Reared  in  such  an  environment,  is  it  a  wonder  that 
Jack  McQuillan  should  have  grown  to  manhood  un- 


98          THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

couth  and  ignorant  even  if  well  meaning  at  heart, 
and  that  Maggie,  who  was  of  more  than  ordinary 
beauty  of  a  common  type,  should  have  been  exposed 
to  the  wiles  of  such  a  creature  as  "Big  Mike"  Demp- 
sey? 

She  may  have  had  a  sneaking  fondness  for  him 
on  her  part,  for  the  leader  of  "the  Jacksonians"  was 
something  of  a  hero  in  the  eyes  of  the  feminine  por- 
tion of  that  part  of  the  East  Side.  He  was  the  big 
man  of  the  district,  and  his  political  "pull"  was  con- 
sidered infallible.  Besides,  he  was  a  giant  in  strength 
and  Maggie  but  a  puny  thing,  who  looked  up  to  him 
with  awesome  admiration  of  his  broad  chest,  thick- 
set neck  and  brawny  muscles.  He  was  fairly  good- 
looking,  too,  as  such  men  go,  with  dark,  curly  hair, 
blue  eyes,  and  the  regulation  politician's  moustache, 
kept  in  trim  and  dyed  black. 

She  held  out  against  his  boisterous  wooing  until 
her  brother  got  into  his  trouble,  and  then  she  sought 
the  aid  of  his  "pull,"  paying  the  price  he  demanded. 

And  now  the  world  had  crashed  in  ruin  about  her ! 
Her  brother  condemned  to  death ;  the  boasted  "pull" 
a  broken  reed ;  her  lover  had  lied  to  her ;  her  terrible 
sacrifice  had  been  in  vain!  More  like  a  distracted 


A  PRODUCT  OF  POLITICS  99 

animal,  with  a  death  wound  in  its  heart,  than  a 
human  being,  she  ran  through  the  streets,  heedless  of 
the  curious  glances  cast  at  her  bare  head,  from  which 
her  shawl  had  fallen,  until  she  reached  a  liquor 
store  at  the  corner  of  the  street  in  which  she  lived, 
and  which  she  knew  was  the  quarters  of  'The  Jack- 
sonians,"  and  where  its  leader  could  generally  be 
found. 

She  gave  one  look  behind  the  green  screen  which 
stood  just  inside  the  open  doorway  and  saw  him 
standing  at  the  bar  drinking  the  vile  stuff  dispensed 
there.  She  darted  in  and  grabbed  him  by  the  shoul- 
ders. 

"It's  all  up  with  Jack!"  she  gasped  hysterically. 
"He's  ter  be  'lectrocuted." 

"You  don't  say  so,  Mag?"  declared  Mike  Demp- 
sey  in  well-simulated  surprise,  for  one  of  his  hench- 
men who  had  been  in  court  had  brought  him  the 
news  some  time  ago.  "Well,  I'm  sorry  fer  poor 
Jack." 

"Yer  lie,  yer  ain't!"  cried  the  distracted  girl. 
"Yer  lyin'  now,  as  yer  lied  ter  me  about  yer  pull 
wid  ther  judge." 

"Come,  come,  Mag,  yer  excited  an'  yer  don't  know 


ioo        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

what  yer  sayin',"  retorted  the  thug,  with  a  shade  of 
annoyance  on  his  face.  "Dis  ain't  der  time  nor  de 
place  ter  bully-rag  me — let's  go  outside  an'  we'll  talk 
dis  t'ing  over." 

He  went  out  on  the  sidewalk,  whither  she  fol- 
lowed him. 

"Yer  see,  Mag,"  he  tried  to  explain,  "I  never 
t'ought  der  case  would  come  up  'fore  der  Recorder. 
Gee!  he's  one  of  dem  stiff  blokes  wot  no  feller  can 
git  around.  Yer  see,  he's  been  put  on  ther  bench 
by  dem  blasted  Reformers,  so  we'se,  who  works  fer 
der  Organization,  don't  get  no  show  wid  him." 

"But  you  told  me — you  promised  me "  she 

began  in  a  tear-choked  voice,  and  trembling  in  every 
limb. 

"Yer  needn't  go  puttin'  it  up  ter  a  feller  like 
dat,"  he  interrupted  in  an  injured  tone.  "I  did  me 
best.  I  went  ter  see  me  frien'  der  Alderman,  an' 
he  promised  ter  speak  to  a  certain  judge.  It's  just 
Jack's  luck  dat  he  come  up  'fore  der  Recorder  'stead 
of  dis  judge,  who'd  let  him  off  wid  a  light  sentence. 
But  cheer  up,  me  goil;  der  woist  ain't  happened 
yet." 

"He's  ter  be  sent  ter  Sing  Sing  ter-morrer,"  she 


A  PRODUCT  OF  POLITICS  101 

moaned,  bursting  into  tears.  "Oh,  Jack!  Jack! 
I'll  never  see  yer  alive  again!" 

"Well,  bein'  in  Sing  Sing  ain't  bein'  put  in  der 
chair  yet,  is  it?  Dey  kin  appeal,  can't  dey?  An' 
mebbe  he'll  get  a  new  trial.  Meanwhile  he's  get- 
tin'  his  grub  an'  lodgin'  from  der  State,  which  is 
more'n  you're  gettin'.  Now  dat  Jack  can't  provide 
for  yer,  I'll  take  care  of  yer,"  he  grandiloquently 
added,  putting  his  arm  around  her  waist.  "You 
just  come  wid  me,  an' " 

"Never!"  she  wildly  interrupted,  pushing  him 
back.  "God'll  take  care  o'  me,  and  He  knows  I 
bitterly  rue  der  day  I  cast  me  eyes  on  yer." 

"So  dat's  der  way  der  wind  blows,  is  it  ?"  he  cried, 
with  a  sudden  access  of  jealous  fury.  "Yer  a-goin' 
ter  chuck  me  over.  P'raps  yer  got  yer  peepers 
fixed  on  some  other  feller?  Not  on  yer  life!  Yer 
belongs  ter  me,  Mag,  an'  yer  goin'  home  wid  me 
right  now." 

He  stretched  out  his  brawny  hand  and  caught  her 
arm,  which  he  could  have  crushed  like  a  pipe-stem. 
She  tried  in  vain  to  free  herself  from  his  grip. 

"Let  me  go,  Mike  Dempsey!"  she  cried,  "I 
don't  want  ter  go  wid  yer." 


102        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"But  I  guess  you  will,  me  lady,"  he  retorted, 
dragging  her  along  the  now  darkening  and  deserted 
street. 

Maggie  gave  a  desperate  shriek  for  help. 

"Let  go  that  girl,  you  ruffian!"  exclaimed  a  fe- 
male voice,  and  a  young  girl,  not  much  older  than 
Maggie  herself,  appeared  on  the  scene.  She  was 
considerably  taller  though,  almost  as  tall  as  Mike 
Dempsey  himself,  and  she  proudly  bore  her  form, 
neatly  clad  in  black,  as  she  gazed  steadfastly  in  the 
eyes  of  the  thug,  without  a  particle  of  fear  on  her 
pale,  oval  face.  There  was  determination  in  her 
pose  and  in  the  flash  of  her  clear,  blue  eyes.  Mike 
Dempsey  gave  her  one  look  and  seemed  to  recog- 
nize her. 

"Oh,  ho !"  he  cried,  with  a  burst  of  ironical  laugh- 
ter; "you're  de  gal  wot  hangs  'round  here  tryin' 
ter  make  people  good ;  de  gal  dey  calls  der  angel  of 
ther  slums.  Well,  yer  better  make  yerself  scarce, 
or  dere'll  be  an  angel  less  in  dis  wicked  woild." 

"Oh,  miss,  save  me,  save  me  from  him!"  cried 
Maggie,  breaking  loose  from  his  grasp,  and  running 
to  her  side. 


A  PRODUCT  OF  POLITICS  103 

"I  will,  dear,"  coolly  replied  the  girl,  patting  her 
head.  "You  will  come  with  me,  not  with  him." 

"Oh,  she  will,  eh?"  sneered  Mike;  "an'  wot's  ter 
prevent  me  from  grabbin'  up  ther  two  of  yer  ?" 

"This,"  replied  the  angel  of  the  slums,  suddenly 
drawing  a  revolver  and  pointing  it  at  him.  "If  I'm 
an  angel,  I'm  an  armed  one.  You  come  a  step 
nearer,  and  I'll  show  you  how  I  shoot !" 


104       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  IX 

AN  ANGEL  OF  THE  SLUMS 

A  GNES  MERRIHEW,  the  girl  who  pointed  the 
'**•  revolver,  with  unerring  aim,  at  the  breast  of 
the  political  thug,  was  indeed  known  in  the  neigh- 
borhood as  "the  angel  of  the  slums."  Some  of  the 
clergy,  with  a  pious  play  on  her  name,  called  her 
"Agnus  Dei,  Lamb  of  God." 

She  was  only  ten  years  old  when  she  came  from 
the  Far  West  to  the  big  city  with  her  father,  but 
like  him  she  brought  with  her  some  of  the  breezy  at- 
mosphere of  the  Colorado  canyons.  He  had  pros- 
pected with  pick  and  shovel,  year  in  and  year  out, 
until  the  name  of  Si  Merrihew  had  become  synony- 
mous with  bad  luck.  He  had  seen  his  young  wife 
succumb  to  their  sufferings  and  sink  into  an  early 
grave,  and  he  had  taken  his  motherless  child,  scarce- 
ly a  few  months  old,  in  his  arms,  determining  to 


AN  ANGEL  OF  THE  SLUMS          105 

battle  on  and  on  with  adverse  fortune.  Then,  when 
the  girl  was  ten  years  old,  her  father,  working  in  the 
most  unpromising  claim,  turned  a  boulder  with  his 
pick  and  uncovered  a  vein  of  gold  which  promised 
to  make  him  the  richest  miner  in  the  Golden  West. 
All  he  said,  as  he  laid  down  his  pick  and  reverently 
uncovered  his  head,  was:  "Why  couldn't  Mary 
have  lived  to  see  this  day?" 

As  successive  disappointments  and  failures  had 
not  broken  down  his  indomitable  spirit,  so  unex- 
pected fortune  did  not  unduly  elate  him.  He  made 
good  his  claim,  broke  up  his  primitive  camp  in  the 
wilderness,  and,  taking  with  him  some  nuggets  and 
pieces  of  ore  he  had  dug  from  his  mine,  went  with 
Agnes  to  Denver. 

"Now  my  little  gal  shall  be  a  lady,"  he  told  some 
of  his  mining  friends.  "I'm  goin'  to  New  York  to 
form  a  company  to  work  the  mine,  an'  she  shall  have 
the  best  eddication  that  money'll  buy." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  The  sale  of  his  nug- 
gets brought  him  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars,  most 
of  which  he  spent  buying  Agnes  the  most  wonder- 
ful outfit  a  girl  of  her  age  ever  had ;  with  the  balance 


io6        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

he  bought  the  tickets  for  the  train  that  was  to  take 
them  to  the  metropolis. 

Brought  up  under  the  circumstances  as  narrated, 
Agnes  was  skilled  in  all  the  peculiar  accomplish- 
ments of  the  wild  West. 

Astride  of  an  unbroken  bronco,  without  saddle 
or  bridle,  she  was  a  fearless  rider;  her  aim  was 
unerring  at  a  hundred  yards  with  either  rifle  or 
revolver;  young  as  she  was  she  had  come  out  vic- 
torious in  a  combat  with  a  mountain  lion,  and  had 
laid  the  huge,  ferocious  beast  at  her  feet  a  corpse, 
weltering  in  the  blood  oozing  from  its  death  wound 
in  its  heart,  where  she  had  stabbed  it  with  her  hunt- 
ing knife. 

Agnes  Merrihew  could  do  all  this  when  she  was 
ten  years  old,  although  she  was  a  very  indifferent 
reader  and  speller;  fractions  were  to  her  so  many 
stumbling-blocks,  and  she  was  in  blissful  ignorance 
of  the  rules  of  syntax.  But  this  was  all  to  be  cor- 
rected now ;  she  was  to  be  brought  up  as  a  lady,  as 
her  father  said. 

When  he  arrived  in  the  city  and  went  down  to 
Wall  Street,  he  found  promoters  enough  to  finance 
his  mine,  but  he  had  to  take  for  his  interest  but  a 


AN  ANGEL  OF  THE  SLUMS          107 

relatively  small  proportion  of  its  capitalization.  It 
was  capitalized  at  a  million  or  more,  but  his  share 
was  barely  a  quarter  of  that  amount.  Still,  two 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  seemed  a  tre- 
mendous amount  of  money  to  the  simple  miner,  who 
thought  that  with  it  he  could  buy  out  almost  all 
New  York.  What  he  did  not  consider,  to  his  sub- 
sequent sorrow  and  dismay,  was  that  taking  stock 
in  a  corporation — and  minority  stock  at  that — was 
not  exactly  the  same  thing  as  receiving  the  same 
amount  in  hard  cash.  He  sold  enough  of  his  shares 
to  buy  a  little  home  on  the  upper  West  Side,  the 
principal  attraction  of  which,  in  his  eyes,  was  that 
it  was  near  enough  to  the  young  ladies'  school  in 
which  he  placed  his  daughter  for  her  to  come  home 
every  day. 

It  was  mere  chance  that  this  very  school  was  the 
same  which  Gladys  Armytage  and  Alicia  Chubb 
attended,  although  the  two  were  somewhat  older 
than  Agnes  and  much  further  advanced  in  their 
studies.  Agnes  admired  them  shyly  from  a  dis- 
tance as  ideals  of  what  her  father  wanted  her  to 
become,  though  she  said  to  herself  that  she  would 
rather  be  like  Gladys  than  Alicia,  as  the  latter  al- 


io8        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

ways  looked  at  her  with  an  air  of  disdain,  while 
Gladys  would  sometimes  give  her  a  pleasant  word 
or  a  friendly  smile ;  and  as  the  years  went  by,  their 
intimacy  became  greater. 

Agnes  studied  hard  and  not  only  mastered  the 
rudiments  in  which  she  had  been  so  woefully  defi- 
cient, but  also  the  higher  branches  of  learning.  To 
help  her  father  in  their  happy,  if  modest,  home,  she 
became  an  expert  typewriter  and  stenographer,  ac- 
complishments which  in  the  after,  sorrowful  days 
she  found  of  more  immediate  value  to  her  than  her 
knowledge  of  the  modern  languages  and  higher 
mathematics.  When  she  was  fifteen  years  old,  the 
soaring,  untrammeled  imagination  she  had  brought 
with  her  from  her  Western  home  burst  forth  into 
poesy.  She  began  to  write  verses,  at  first  secretly, 
and  half  ashamed  to  read  them  to  herself.  Then 
she  showed  some  of  the  things  she  had  written  to 
her  father,  who  declared  they  were  the  grandest 
outbursts  of  genius  he  had  ever  seen ;  finally  she  sent 
them  to  a  magazine,  and  was  in  a  perfect  whirlwind 
of  bliss  when  she  actually  saw  them  in  print.  What 
did  she  sing  about  in  meter  that  seemed  to  come 
faultlessly  from  her  pen  ?  The  hills  and  vales  of  her 


AN  ANGEL  OF  THE  SLUMS  109 

native  Colorado;  the  deep  canyons  where  the  shad- 
ows ever  rested;  the  mountain  torrents  dashing  in 
mad  fury  down  the  rocky  gorges ;  the  snow-capped 
mountains  rising  grand  and  serene  through  the 
clouds  to  the  eternal  sunshine  that  bathed  their 
brows.  All  this  she  depicted  in  glowing  verse,  and 
ever  through  the  stanzas  there  breathed  that  mighty 
spirit  of  liberty  typified  by  the  all-conquering  cy- 
clones of  the  West,  which  the  shackling  hand  of 
weak  human  beings  cannot  stay. 

At  this  time  her  muse  sang  in  one  key — that  of 
freedom.  It  had  not  yet  been  attuned,  as  it  was 
to  be,  to  the  throbbing  notes  of  love  or  the  sad  minor 
chords  of  the  sufferings  of  the  poor  and  lowly. 
Thus  the  days  and  weeks,  months  and  years  sped 
by,  until  the  sweet  singer  was  eighteen  years  old. 
Then  her  girlish  happiness,  with  the  suddenness  of 
an  earthquake,  fell  into  a  crashing  ruin,  which,  for 
the  time  being,  broke  all  the  strings  of  her  lyre  and 
rendered  mute  the  song-birds  in  her  heart. 

It  was  the  old,  old  game  played  in  Wall  Street, 
then  known  by  a  different  name,  but  now  called 
"Frenzied  Finance"  and  "The  System" — the  game 
in  which  a  solvent  and  prosperous  corporation  is 


1 10   THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

temporarily  wrecked  by  the  coterie  of  scoundrels 
who  control  it,  for  the  purpose  of  what  is  known  as 
"freezing  out"  the  minority  shareholders.  The  Col- 
orado mine  had  not  only  proved  lucrative,  but  the 
gains  had  exceeded  the  most  sanguine  expectations 
of  those  who  had  financed  it.  But  these  greedy  gen- 
tlemen were  not  satisfied  to  receive  the  lion's  share 
of  the  yearly  production  of  gold;  they  wanted  it 
all,  and  by  Wall  Street  trickery  and  legal  chicanery 
they  accomplished  their  nefarious  purpose. 

Rumors  began  to  circulate  of  exhausted  veins,  of 
flooded  shafts  and  subterranean  conflagrations  in 
the  mines,  and  the  price  of  the  shares  in  the  market 
began  to  tumble  slowly  at  first,  then  by  leaps,  as 
the  bear  clique  manipulated  them.  Then  the  rate 
of  the  dividend  was  cut,  followed  by  another  tum- 
ble. Then  dividends  were  passed  altogether,  and 
no  one  would  touch  the  shares  if  they  were  offered 
to  him  free.  Debts  were  purposely  left  unpaid ;  the 
mining  corporation  was  thrown  into  bankruptcy  and 
a  receiver  appointed — and  all  this  while  Si  Merri- 
hew  held  on  to  his  shares  with  the  fatuous  confidence 
that  it  was  but  a  passing  storm.  He  knew  of  such 
happenings  out  in  Colorado,  where  mines  had  seem- 


AN  ANGEL  OF  THE  SLUMS  1 1 1 

ingly  petered  out,  only  to  afterwards  become  more 
than  ever  productive  and  to  reward  a  thousand-fold 
the  faithful  ones  who  had  loyally  preserved  their 
interest.  The  Western  miner  may  have  known  his 
Colorado,  but  he  did  not  know  Wall  Street.  The 
receiver,  a  mere  tool  of  the  sharpers,  appointed  by 
a  "friendly"  judge,  reported  that  a  reorganization 
of  the  company  would  be  in  the  best  interests  of  its 
stockholders;  and  it  was,  as  far  as  the  holders  of 
the  majority  number  of  shares  were  concerned. 
These  numbered  scarcely  more  than  half  a  dozen 
persons,  who  had  quietly  absorbed  the  stock  as  it 
was  sacrified  in  the  declining  market.  The  reor- 
ganization was  ordered,  executed  in  due  legal  form, 
and  the  minority  shareholders  found  themselves  cut 
off  from  all  participation  in  the  profits  of  the  com- 
pany, their  shares  being  but  bits  of  green  paper  with 
absolutely  no  value  except  in  the  junk  shop. 

This  "hocus-pocus"  of  Wall  Street  simply  be- 
wildered the  Colorado  miner,  who  had  been  obliged 
to  mortgage  his  little  home  to  tide  him  over  the 
days  when  his  shares  brought  in  no  income  to  pro- 
vide for  his  household  expenses.  But  his  great  big 
heart  broke  when,  the  reorganization  barely  effected, 


ii2        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

the  shares  boomed  toward  higher  prices  than  they 
had  ever  been  quoted,  and  enormous  dividends  were 
declared  by  the  same  old  gang  of  directors  who  had 
played  the  game  of  freeze-out.  He,  the  discoverer 
of  the  mine — the  one  man  in  all  the  world  who  had 
made  it  possible  for  these  financial  pirates  to  thus 
enrich  themselves  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice — he 
had  been  betrayed  and  deceived ;  he  had  been  ruined, 
made  practically  penniless;  his  daughter's  career 
spoiled ;  her  future  blasted,  and  the  very  roof  which 
sheltered  him  likely  to  be  taken  away  by  default 
of  the  very  next  interest  on  the  mortgage,  which  he 
would  be  unable  to  meet.  They  said  it  was  a  sudden 
stroke  of  apoplexy  which  took  him  off,  but  he  was 
assassinated  by  Wall  Street,  just  as  surely  as  if 
any  one  of  the  precious  coterie  of  sharpers  had 
thrust  a  knife  to  the  hilt  in  his  breast. 

Agnes  found  him,  on  her  return  from  school, 
sitting  in  his  chair  by  the  window.  She  thought 
him  dozing  while  awaiting  her  coming,  and  play- 
fully tip-toed  behind  him  and  bent  her  head  to 
awaken  him  with  a  kiss.  Her  warm  lips  touched 
his  icy  ones,  and  then  she  knew  he  was  dead. 

Illness  mercifully  drew  a  curtain  over  the  next 


AN  ANGEL  OF  THE  SLUMS  1 13 

four  weeks.  At  the  end  of  that  time  Agnes  awoke 
from  the  delirium  of  fever  to  find  herself  in  a  hospi- 
tal, an  orphan,  fatherless  now  as  well  as  motherless, 
bereft  of  a  home,  and  without  a  penny  in  her  pock- 
et. She  had  no  thought  but  to  pray  for  death  to 
come  and  lay  her  at  her  father's  side.  While  in 
this  state  of  utter  moral  and  mental,  if  not  physical, 
annihilation,  she  was  visited  by  a  godly  man,  the 
editor  of  a  religious  magazine  to  whose  columns  she 
had  contributed.  The  friendly  grasp  of  his  hand 
was  like  balm  to  her  wounded  soul;  his  words  of 
admonition  fell  like  a  shower  of  manna  on  her  deso- 
late heart.  He  told  her  that  it  was  her  duty  to  live 
for  others  if  not  for  herself.  His  magazine  had 
been  instrumental  in  establishing  a  rescue  home  for 
young  girls  in  Water  Street,  and  they  needed  one 
who  had  known  sorrow  herself  to  go  out  in  the 
highways  and  byways  and  gather  in  those  of  her 
sex  who  were  tottering  on  the  brink  of  ruin.  Hers 
was  not  the  only  bleeding  heart,  and  she  would  find 
that  as  she  bound  up  the  wounds  of  others,  her  own 
would  be  healed. 

And  Agnes  accepted  the  mission  thus  offered  her. 
Nay,  she  was  eager  to  grow  well  and  strong  again, 


1 14        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

so  that  she  might  minister  to  those  who  needed  her 
aid.  That  was  two  years  ago.  She  had  given  her- 
self up  to  her  holy  work  with  such  purpose  and  suc- 
cess that  she  was  reverenced  and  adored  even  by 
the  vilest  on  her  daily  visits  in  the  lowest  and  most 
wretched  quarter  of  the  city. 

Thus  had  she  gained  the  titles  of  the  "angel  of 
the  slums"  and  the  "Lamb  of  God,"  and  it  was 
while  on  an  errand  of  mercy  that  she  had  been  at- 
tracted by  Maggie's  cry  for  help  and  had  come  to 
her  rescue.  Many  a  time  had  her  Western  breeding 
and  her  fearlessness  been  of  good  service  to  her  in 
her  work,  but  never  more  so  than  now,  when  she 
pointed  her  revolver  at  "Big  Mike"  and  calmly  told 
him  she  knew  how  to  shoot. 


A  MODEL  RESCUE  HOME  115 


CHAPTER  X 

A    MODEL  RESCUE   HOME 

IG  MIKE"  made  a  motion  as  if  to  draw  his 
own  weapon,  but  then  changed  his  mind  and 
left  his  revolver  in  his  hip  pocket. 

"Yer  needn't  be  so  perky  'bout  pullin'  yer  gun," 
he  sullenly  said,  "though  I  did  hear  as  how  yer 
were  not  only  a  gospel-sharp  but  a  dead-shot,  too. 
Yer  ain't  got  no  call,  though,  ter  interfere  between 
me  and  me  gal  here." 

"That  is  for  her  to  say — not  you,"  retorted  Ag- 
nes, lowering  her  weapon.  "I  heard  her  call  for 
help,  and  that  is  enough  warrant  for  my  interference, 
especially  with  a  person  of  such  notorious  character 
as  I  know  you,  Mike  Dempsey,  to  be." 

"Oh,  then  you  know  me  pursonly?"  he  said  with 
a  look  of  surprise. 


ii  16       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"I  know  pretty  nearly  everybody  around  this 
neighborhood,"  calmly  replied  Agnes. 

"Me  too?"  asked  Maggie,  moving  closer  to  her. 

"Yes,  you,  too,"  she  answered,  putting  her  arm 
around  the  young  girl's  waist.  "You  are  the  sister 
of  the  man  who  was  condemned  to  death  to-day, 
and,  feeling  that  your  heart  would  be  sore  and  bleed- 
ing, I  came  on  purpose  to  hunt  you  up  and  console 
you." 

"You  are  indeed  an  angel !"  cried  Maggie  with  a 
fresh  burst  of  tears.  "But  wot  consolation  can  yer 
give  me,  homeless  and  penniless  as  I  am,  wid  no 
brother  now  to  care  for  me  an'  protect  me?" 

"The  consolation  of  a  sister's  love,"  murmured 
Agnes  as  she  drew  Maggie  to  her  breast  and  fondly 
kissed  her.  "I,  too,  have  gone  through  the  shadow 
of  the  valley  of  death  and  desolation.  I  know  what 
it  is  to  suffer  and  yet  be  strong.  As  for  you,  Mike 
Dempsey,"  she  added,  turning  to  the  thug  standing 
there  and  scowling  at  them,  "you  make  yourself 
scarce." 

"You  ain't  got  no  right  to  come  between  me  and 
me  sweetheart,"  he  blustered.  "If  Mag  wants  a 
home,  I'll  give  her  one;  if  she  wants  money  to  blow 


A  MODEL  RESCUE  HOME  117 

on  clothes,  I've  got  ther  dough,  all  right.  Won't 
you  come  wid  me,  Mag?" 

"No,  no,"  shudderingly  replied  the  young  girl, 
clinging  more  closely  still  to  her  fair  protector. 
"Yer  deceived  me  once,  an'  I'll  never  trust  yer 
agin.  You  an'  I  parts  now  forever." 

"Oh,  yer  kin  talk  mighty  big,"  he  sneered,  "  'cause 
yer  t'ink  yer've  got  der  angel  on  yer  side  an'  yer 
looks  on  me  as  a  sort  of  devil.  But  ther  devil  some- 
times gets  ther  best  of  ther  game.  Go  with  dat 
gospel-sharp  if  yer  wants  ter,  but  look  out  fer  me. 
Yer  not  done  wid  me  yet — not  by  a  long  shot.  Yer 
belongs  ter  me — yer  know  best  why — an'  I'll  have 
yer  yet,  me  fine  lady,  as  sure's  me  name's  Big 
Mike." 

So  saying,  he  shook  his  big  fist  at  the  two  girls, 
slunk  away,  and  was  soon  swallowed  up  in  the 
darkness. 

"Do  yer  t'ink  he  means  wot  he  says?"  asked  Mag- 
gie with  a  shiver  when  they  were  alone. 

"Yes,  I  think  he  does,"  admitted  Agnes.  "But 
don't  be  afraid.  From  this  moment  on  you  will 
have  friends  to  protect  you." 

"Oh,  yer  don't  know  how  powerful  he  is  in  the 


1 18   THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

district — what  a  pull  he's  got ;  even  the  cops  are 
afraid  ter  pinch  him." 

"We'll  take  proper  measures  to  protect  you," 
Agnes  assured  her;  "but  it  would  be  too  dangerous, 
now  that  your  brother  is  not  near  to  guard  you,  for 
you  to  live  alone  in  your  home." 

"Alas,  Miss!"  sobbed  Maggie,  "I  ain't  got  no 
home  any  more.  It's  three  months  now  since  Jack's 
been  lyin'  in  ther  Tombs,  an'  wot  little  clothin'  I 
had,  I  had  to  hock  ter  get  somethin'  ter  eat.  This 
mornin'  ther  landlady  put  me  out  of  ther  house 
'cause  we  owed  her  two  months'  rent,  an'  she  said 
that  she'd  keep  ther  furniture  for  ther  money  that 
was  comin'  ter  her." 

"No  matter,  my  dear,  you  shall  come  to  the  home 
with  me.  You  have  heard  of  the  rescue  home  for 
young  girls  in  Water  Street,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes;  it's  a  mission,  ain't  it,  where  you've  got 
ter  'tend  prayer-meetin'  all  day?  Dey  say  it's  a 
Protestant  mission,  an'  I'm  a  Catholic  an' " 

Agnes  interrupted  her  with  a  merry  laugh. 

"Poor  girl!"  she  then  exclaimed.  "How  misin- 
formed you  are!  It  is  true  that  the  home  was 
founded  by  pious  Protestants,  and  religious  consola- 


A  MODEL  RESCUE  HOME  119 

tion  and  instructions  are  given  to  those  voluntarily 
asking  for  them;  but  Mr.  Messenger,  the  editor  of 
the  paper  with  which  I  am  connected  and  who  has 
charge  of  the  home,  has  determined  to  have  it  just 
what  it  is  named — a  rescue  home,  not  a  mission — 
and  its  doors  are  open  to  all  young  girls  who  need 
protection  and  friends,  without  regard  to  their  relig- 
ious beliefs.  I  live  there  myself,"  she  added,  "and 
rarely  attend  the  prayer-meetings.  I  have  an  opin- 
ion of  my  own  that  he  is  the  most  religious  who 
does  the  most  for  his  fellow-man,  and  Mr.  Messen- 
ger never  tries  to  combat  my  views.  I  have  a  lovely 
room,  small  but  cozy,  and  furnished  comfortably  if 
plainly.  My  bed  is  large  enough  for  two,  and  we'll 
room  together  and  you  shall  be  my  chum.  How 
do  you  like  that?" 

"Oh,  you  are  so  good  to  me !"  cried  Maggie  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  while  she  raised  Agnes'  hand  to 
her  lips.  "But  how  can  you  trust  me  to  share  your 
room  and  even  your  bed  when  I  am  but  a  stranger 
to  you  ?" 

"I  trust  every  one,"  replied  Agnes  seriously ;  "that 
is  part  of  my  religion.  If  they  afterwards  do  go 
wrong,  their  loss  is  greater  than  mine.  But  come," 


120        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

she  added  more  lightly ;  "let  us  hurry,  or  we'll  miss 
our  supper." 

Maggie  gladly  went  with  her.  Hand  in  hand  the 
two  girls,  like  two  sisters,  wended  their  way  through 
the  dark  and  devious  streets  and  paused  before  an 
unpretentious-looking  three-story  and  basement  brick 
house,  which  had  first  been  a  private  residence  in 
the  days  when  that  section  of  the  city  had  been  the 
home  of  wealth  and  fashion;  then,  when  residence 
after  residence  was  torn  down  to  make  huge  ware- 
houses, it  had  become  a  low  and  vile  dance-house, 
until  it  was  converted  and  consecrated  to  its  present 
beneficent  purpose  by  Rev.  John  Messenger. 

Perhaps  because  the  Rev.  Mr.  Messenger  had 
never  filled  a  regular  pulpit  in  a  church  of  his  de- 
nomination, but  had  been  a  writer  for  the  papers 
and  an  editor  since  leaving  college,  he  laid  down 
rather  peculiar  rules  for  the  government  of  the 
home.  It  was,  practically,  to  be  nothing  more  than 
a  free  boarding-house  for  girls  unable  to  pay  for 
the  accommodations  offered  them.  The  compulsory 
things  were  a  bath,  three  substantial  if  plain  meals 
a  day,  and  a  dormitory  where  sleep  was  wooed  in 
cots  covered  with  immaculate  bed  linen.  Next  in 


A  MODEL  RESCUE  HOME  121 

importance  in  Mr.  Messenger's  eyes  were  a  library 
containing  good  fiction;  a  class-room  where  Agnes 
taught  reading,  writing  and  spelling  in  the  lower 
grades,  and  arithmetic,  stenography  and  typewriting 
to  the  more  advanced  scholars ;  a  sewing-room,  pre- 
sided over  by  a  motherly  woman  who  called  the 
flock  of  girls  her  children;  and  a  labor  bureau  in 
charge  of  Mr.  Messenger  himself,  where  applications 
were  received  for  situations.  On  two  points,  in 
spite  of  murmurs  of  dissent  on  the  part  of  some  of 
the  pious  contributors  to  the  home,  the  doctor  was 
adamant :  first,  that  neither  officials  nor  the  inmates 
were  to  wear  any  distinctive  uniforms  which  would 
make  them  recognizable  as  being  connected  with  the 
institution;  and  secondly,  no  religious  exercises  of 
any  kind  were  to  be  given,  except  a  simple  service 
of  prayer  and  song  for  those  who  cared  to  attend, 
without  any  compulsion,  direct  or  indirect.  Under 
its  roof  it  sheltered  nearly  fifty  girls,  the  limit  of 
its  narrow  capacity,  and  there  were  almost  as  many 
different  religious  beliefs  represented  as  there  were 
inmates.  On  Sundays  and  holy  days  the  girls  went 
each  to  the  church  of  her  own  faith,  and  meanwhile 


122        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

lived  in  peace  and  amity  with  their  sister-wards,  no 
matter  what  they  believed  or  disbelieved. 

Alas,  the  home  is  no  more !  Its  religious  freedom 
was  the  very  rock  on  which  it  split,  in  spite  of  the 
sanguine  expectations  of  its  founder  that  it  would 
be  the  keystone  of  its  perpetuity.  The  pious  con- 
tributors, headed,  sad  to  relate,  by  Mr.  Silas  Chubb, 
protested  that  it  was  sinful  for  them  to  contribute 
to  a  purely  secular  institution,  and,  their  protests 
being  unheeded,  they  ceased  to  pay  the  amounts 
necessary  for  its  maintenance,  preferring  to  devote 
the  money  to  an  uptown  institution  which  had  a 
grand-looking  building  surrounded  by  a  magnificent 
park.  There  all  the  male  officials  were  clergymen 
in  surplice  and  cassock;  the  female  attendants  wore 
such  lovely  uniforms  of  a  Protestant  sisterhood,  and 
every  inmate  had  to  wear  an  alpaca  dress,  gingham 
apron,  and  muslin  cap,  and  was  obliged  to  attend 
prayer-meeting  three  times  every  week  day  and  five 
times  on  Sunday,  besides  saying  grace  before  and 
after  each  meal.  But  during  the  time  the  Water 
Street  home  existed  it  probably  did  more  good  and 
exercised  a  more  wholesome  influence  in  the  neigh- 
borhood than  any  effort  made  before  and  since  to 


A  MODEL  RESCUE  HOME  123 

spread  the  light  of  righteous  living  in  that  dark- 
some region. 

It  required  neither  ring  of  the  bell  nor  a  pass- 
key for  Agnes  to  open  the  front  door;  the  latch- 
string  hung,  so  to  speak,  always  on  the  outside. 
Timidly  followed  by  Maggie,  she  entered  the  well 
lit  hall  and  passed  into  an  anteroom  through  a 
door,  on  the  ground-glass  panel  of  which  was 
marked  the  word  "Office." 

The  floor  was  covered  with  green  baize  carpet; 
a  couple  of  cane-bottomed  chairs  stood  handy ;  a  few 
cheap  pictures  of  landscapes  hung  on  the  wall,  while 
behind  a  table-desk,  littered  with  books  and  papers, 
sat  a  heavily-bearded,  genial-appearing  man,  with 
a  scholar's  stoop  and  a  kindly  look  beaming  in  his 
blue  eyes  from  behind  the  large  spectacles  he  wore. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  room  to  indicate  "an  insti- 
tution," secular  or  religious.  It  looked  just  like 
what  it  was  intended  to  be — the  business-office  of 
a  busy  man.  Nor  did  Mr.  Messenger's  attire,  as 
he  stopped  writing  at  their  entrance  and  rose  to 
greet  them,  suggest  the  clergyman  that  he  was  by 
right  of  his  learning,  his  college  diploma  and  his 
inborn,  true  piety.  He  might  have  been  a  doctor,  or 


124        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

a  lawyer,  or  the  editor  he  really  was,  so  far  as  the 
clothes  he  wore  indicated. 

"Ah,"  he  said  with  a  genial  smile,  as  he  stepped 
from  behind  his  desk  and  approached  Agnes  with 
outstretched  hand,  "my  Agnus  Dei  has  brought  an- 
other stray  lamb  to  the  fold,  I  see.  We  must  make 
her  feel  at  home  here.  You  are  welcome,  Miss," 
he  added,  taking  Maggie's  hand,  timidly  held  out, 
and  giving  it  a  cordial  clasp,  which  made  the  young 
girl  feel,  as  she  afterward  expressed  it,  "like  I'd 
a-knowed  him  all  me  life  and  him  the  same  ter 
me." 

"She  should  be  made  doubly  welcome,"  said  Ag- 
nes, "because  she  is  the  sister  of  the  man  whose 
doom  you  must  have  read  about  in  the  evening 
papers,  and,  besides,  she  has  a  lover  who  is  a  low 
villain.  I  have  just  rescued  her  from  his  clutches." 

"She  shall  be  doubly  welcomed,"  declared  Mr. 
Messenger.  "Yes,  trebly,  because  she  deserves  an 
extra  welcome  on  your  account.  I'll  just  enter  her 
name  on  the  register  now,  Agnes,  and  you  get  her 
ready  for  a  good  supper.  We'll  listen  to  her  story 
after  she  has  fortified  herself  with  a  square  meal," 

After  this  short,   practical  homily,   he  took  the 


A  MODEL  RESCUE  HOME  125 

name  and  what  few  particulars  were  necessary  to 
complete  the  record,  and  then  bowed  the  two  girls 
out  of  the  office. 

Agnes  took  her  charge  to  the  bath-room,  gave 
the  girl  courage  by  also  taking  a  shower-bath,  then 
had  her  attired  in  a  simple  dress  brought  by  the 
housemaid,  and  introduced  her  to  some  of  the  other 
inmates,  who  were  indulging  in  the  bath. 

"I  feel  like  a  new  woman,"  confessed  Maggie  as 
Agnes  led  her  to  the  dining-room.  "I  ain't  never 
had  no  real  wash  since  I  was  born.  Dere  ain't  no 
bath-rooms  in  de  tenement  houses  we  lived  in." 

She  felt  more  than  ever  like  another  person  after 
she  had  partaken  of  the  supper,  which  consisted  of 
cold  meats,  some  preserves,  toast  and  tea. 

"It's  more'n  I've  dared  ter  eat,"  she  declared, 
"since  I  began  hocking  me  clothes." 

After  the  supper,  Agnes  entertained  her  in  the 
library  by  reading  the  newspaper  aloud,  carefully 
avoiding  any  article  referring  to  her  unfortunate 
brother.  Then  the  angel — here  as  well  as  in  the 
slums — played  on  the  piano  which  stood  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  library,  for  the  benefit  of  all  the  inmates, 
and  sang  in  a  pure  if  not  powerful  voice  some  popu- 


126       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

lar  airs,  in  the  choruses  of  which  all  the  girls  could 
join.  It  was  as  pleasant  and  agreeable  a  way  of 
spending  an  evening  as  you  could  find  in  any  home 
where  there  are  grown-up  daughters,  and  where  a 
spirit  of  harmony  and  contentment  reigns. 

Then  came  bed-time,  and  when  Maggie  was  en- 
sconced in  the  snow-white  sheets,  and,  in  her  de- 
light, actually  hugged  her  bed  companion,  she  could 
not  help  exclaiming : 

"I  never  t'ought  when  I  heard  Jack  sentenced  dis 
afternoon  dat  I  could  ever  be  happy  again.  An' 
now  me  heart  is  as  light  as  a  feather." 

Would  it  have  been  so  light,  or  would  Agnes  have 
felt  so  sure  of  her  charge's  safety,  if  the  two  girls 
had  known  that  their  footsteps  had  been  dogged  to 
the  home? 

Unknown  to  them,  "Big  Mike"  had  been  on  their 
track,  and  when  he  saw  them  disappear  into  the 
building  he  shook  his  clenched  fist  after  them  and 
fairly  hissed : 

"So  dis  is  where  you  .are  housed,  me  lady  love? 
It'll  not  take  me  long  ter  git  yer  out  of  dere  an' 
put  yer  where  all  de  angels  in  de  woild  an'  in  heaven 
can't  git  yer  out." 


FACE  TO  FACE  127 


CHAPTER  XI 

FACE  TO  FACE 

'""PHE  entrance  of  the  Soggarth  Aroon  caused  an 
*  impressive  silence  to  fall  on  the  revellers  at 
the  Armytage  residence.  The  Prophet  Daniel  had 
indeed  appeared,  and  he  was  to  solve  the  riddle 
which  perplexed  Harold  why  there  were  want  and 
misery,  crime  and  sin,  in  the  midst  of  plenty  be- 
yond any  one's  hope  of  rational  enjoyment. 

"Good  father,"  exclaimed  the  young  heir,  rising 
and  reverently  saluting  the  priest,  "before  you  tell 
us  the  particular  mission  which  brings  you  here 
to-night,  tell  me,  I  beg  you,  what  is  my  duty  to 
my  fellowman.  The  conversation  had  tended  that 
way  just  before  you  entered,  and  I  confess  I  am 
not  satisfied  with  any  of  the  solutions  of  this  great 
problem  which  were  offered  here.  Your  piety,  your 
self-abnegation,  your  services  in  behalf  of  the  poor 


128       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

and  lonely,  the  wretched  and  miserable,  are  known 
all  over  the  world.  In  London  and  Paris,  in  Rome 
itself — the  fountain-head  of  your  faith — I  heard  the 
name  of  the  Soggarth  Aroon  mentioned  with  rever- 
ent praise.  As  a  child  to  the  knees  of  his  father, 
so  I  come  to  you  to  ask  what  should  a  man  with 
my  education,  my  wealth,  and  my  prospects,  do  to 
make  the  world  a  little  better  because  I  have  lived 
in  it." 

The  silence  was  painfully  intense  as  all  eyes  were 
turned  on  the  priest  to  await  his  reply.  While 
Harold  was  speaking  the  good  father  had  stood  in 
an  attitude  of  devotion,  his  hands  clasped  in  front, 
his  eyes  half  closed  and  lowered  to  the  floor,  while 
his  lips  kept  moving  as  if  he  were  murmuring  a 
prayer.  Now  he  suddenly  raised  his  head,  his  coun- 
tenance became  irradiated  with  a  holy  glow,  and 
his  eyes  shone  as  their  glance  swept  the  entire  as- 
semblage and  finally  rested  on  Harold's  face.  Tall 
as  he  was  naturally,  his  figure  seemed  to  increase 
in  size  until  it  dominated  all  in  the  room. 

"Remember  that  ye  are  all  children  of  the  same 
Father,"  he  exclaimed  in  resonant  tones,  which  vi- 
brated in  the  hearts  of  all  who  heard  him.  "Re- 


FACE  TO  FACE  129 

member  that  ye  all  live  in  the  brotherhood  of  man 
under  the  Fatherhood  of  God ;  then  will  it  be  borne 
in  unto  each  of  you  what  duty  you  have  to  per- 
form even  unto  the  lowliest  of  your  brothers." 

He  paused  a  moment  as  if  to  let  this  exordium 
sink  into  their  minds,  then  in  a  milder  tone  con- 
tinued : 

"Some  other  time,  Mr.  Armytage,  and  on  some 
more  fitting  opportunity,  I  will,  with  your  permis- 
sion, point  out  to  you  how  you  can  live  your  life 
in  sweet  harmony  with  this  dictum  I  have  laid 
down.  To-night  I  am  but  a  messenger  from  a  poor, 
wretched  fellow-creature,  humbly  begging  your  in- 
tercession in  his  behalf." 

"You  come  from  the  man  who  this  day  has  been 
condemned  to  death  by  our  Recorder  here  ?  I  would 
like  to  hear  his  story  from  his  own  lips;  how  he 
came  to  commit  the  awful  crime  of  murder." 

"That  is  what  he  has  begged  me  to  ask  of  you," 
declared  the  Soggarth  Aroon.  "Oh,  do  not  let  me 
return  to  him  to  still  further  wring  his  overcharged 
heart  with  the  cruel  tidings  that  my  mission  has 
been  in  vain." 

"It  has  not  been  in  vain,"  exclaimed  Harold,  the 


130       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

light  of  a  holy  purpose  shining  in  his  eyes.  "If 
my  visit  to  him  in  his  cell  in  the  Tombs  will  afford 
him  any  consolation,  go  to  him,  good  father,  and 
tell  him  that  I  will  be  there  to-morrow." 

A  murmur  of  dissent  arose  from  the  aristocratic 
company.  They  thought  it  impudent  on  the  part 
of  the  unfrocked  priest  to  ask  a  man  of  Harold 
Armytage's  position  in  society  to  visit  in  his  cell  a 
condemned  murderer,  and  especially  one  of  the  labor- 
ing classes.  They  regarded  Harold's  ready  assent 
as  quixotism  which  they  deemed  inspired  by  the 
wine  he  had  drunk  at  the  banquet.  Two  there 
were  who  did  not  share  this  feeling.  A  brighter 
light  came  into  Gladys'  eyes,  and  her  head  crested 
itself  more  proudly  as  she  glanced  fondly  at  her 
brother  and  murmured : 

"Good,  Harold!" 

The  Recorder  was  the  other  one  who  considered 
Harold's  declaration  as  entirely  in  order. 

"There  can  be  no  objection  from  a  legal  stand- 
point," he  said,  "to  your  seeing  the  prisoner  and 
offering  him  such  consolation  as  may  lie  in  your 
power.  Only,  you  will  be  unable  to  see  him  at  the 


FACE  TO  FACE  131 

Tombs  to-morrow.  He  will  be  on  his  way  to  Sing 
Sing  long  before  you  are  out  of  bed." 

"Then,  by  God!"  said  Harold  firmly,  "I  shall 
see  him  to-night,  if  there  is  any  possibility  of  doing 
so." 

"Alas !"  declared  the  Soggarth  Aroon,  "the  prison 
rules  are  strict;  no  visitor  would  be  admitted  at 
this  hour." 

"They  would  if  I  issued  a  written  request  in  my 
judicial  capacity,"  declared  the  Recorder.  "If  Mr. 
Armytage  is  willing  to  return  with  you  to  the  Tombs 
I  will  give  him  a  note  to  the  keeper  which  will  admit 
him  to  the  prison  and  procure  for  him  an  interview 
with  the  prisoner.  I  feel  that  I  have  done  my  duty 
in  sentencing  Jack  McQuillan  to  death;  still,  I  am 
curious  to  learn  what  he  would  have  to  say  to  his 
former  employer " 

"I  am  not  aware  that  he  was  in  my  employ," 
broke  in  Harold. 

"As  co-owner  with  your  sister  of  the  Armytage 
Printing  Press  Works,"  explained  the  Recorder, 
"you  were  his  employer,  even  though  the  works  were 
under  the  management  of  Mr.  Chubb." 

"Then  he  was  my  employee,   too,"   interjected 


132        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Gladys.  "I  approve  of  Harold's  intention,  and  if 
Your  Honor  will  write  the  note,  my  brother  will 
go  to  see  the  poor  man  this  very  night." 

"Ma  foil  but  she  is  romantic,"  muttered  the 
Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere  under  his  mustache.  "I 
did  not  think  she  had  a  heart  under  her  glacial  ex- 
terior. But  it  may  be  mere  eccentricity.  They  say 
all  fair  Americans  are  eccentric."  And  he  gave  his 
shoulders  a  Parisian  shrug. 

"In  going,  father,"  asked  Harold,  "will  I  begin 
to  put  into  practice  one  of  your  precepts  about  the 
brotherhood  of  man?" 

"That  you  will,  my  son,"  declared  the  priest,  ex- 
tending his  hands  over  the  young  man's  head  as  if 
in  benediction. 

"Then  go  I  shall.  I  will  provide  you  with  pen 
and  paper,  Your  Honor,"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
Recorder;  "please  write  the  note  while  I  change 
my  dress  and  summon  the  coachman." 

"Does  this  mean  the  breaking  up  of  our  festivi- 
ties?" asked  Silas  Chubb,  while  Alicia  looked  glum 
at  the  thought  that  she  was  to  be  deprived  of  her 
predestined  partner  in  the  german  which  was  to 
follow  the  dinner. 


FACE  TO  FACE  133 

"By  no  means,"  replied  Harold.  "On  with  the 
dance,  ladies  and  gentlemen;  enjoy  yourselves  to 
your  hearts'  content.  I  even  beg  you  to  remain 
until  my  return;  I  may  have  an  interesting  story 
of  my  experience  to  tell  you." 

At  his  request  a  footman  brought  the  necessary 
stationery  to  the  Recorder,  who  wrote  the  follow- 
ing order,  addressed  to  the  warden  of  the  Tombs  : 

"You  are  hereby  directed  on  presentation  of  this 
order  to  pass  into  the  prison  the  bearer,  Harold 
Armytage,  and  the  clergyman  who  accompanies  him, 
and  to  afford  them  an  opportunity  to  see  and  con- 
verse with  the  prisoner,  Jack  McQuillan.  By  order 
of  the  Recorder  of  the  City  of  New  York." 

To  this  he  signed  his  name  and  affixed  his  per- 
sonal seal  with  the  signet  ring  he  wore. 

It  took  Harold  but  a  very  few  moments  to  change 
his  evening  dress  for  a  walking  suit ;  then  receiving 
the  note  from  the  Recorder,  he  bade  his  friends 
good-night  and  with  the  Soggarth  Aroon  passed  out 
of  the  room.  In  the  hall  he  stopped  to  put  on  a  fall 
overcoat  and  hat,  and  then,  allowing  the  good  father 


134       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

to  precede  him,  left  the  house.  The  two  men  en- 
tered the  closed  carriage  which  was  already  drawn 
up  at  the  curb,  and  the  driver,  having  his  directions, 
started  his  horses  at  a  smart  pace  downtown  in  the 
direction  of  the  Tombs. 

Harold  and  his  priestly  companion  exchanged 
but  few  words  during  this  strange  midnight  ride 
through  the  deserted  business  portion  of  the  city. 
The  former's  thoughts  were  full  of  the  new  career 
which  seemed  to  have  been  marked  out  for  him 
by  the  Soggarth  Aroon's  brief  admonition,  while  the 
latter  seemed  sunk  in  a  sort  of  ecstatic  reverie  over 
what  he  considered  the  winning  of  a  new  soul  to  the 
cause  of  righteousness.  They  reached  the  grim, 
Egyptian  structure  in  Centre  Street,  since  replaced 
by  a  new  and  less  forbidding-looking  edifice,  just  as 
the  hands  of  an  illuminated  clock  in  the  front  of 
an  office  building  opposite  pointed  to  the  hour  of 
one. 

At  that  hour  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  Tombs 
was  absolutely  deserted;  not  a  pedestrian  was  in 
sight,  nor  a  policeman  on  his  beat.  Dark,  shadowy, 
mysterious  in  the  faint  light  of  a  waning  moon  and 
partly  clouded  sky,  the  massive  structure,  the  scene 


FACE  TO  FACE  135 

of  so  many  heart-breaking  tragedies  in  real  life, 
loomed  up  with  its  broad  stone  stoop  and  its  heavy 
columns  and  fagades,  like  some  heathen  temple 
reared  in  the  sands  of  Egypt  to  the  worship  of  Isis 
or  Osiris.  It  was  well  named  the  Tombs,  for  it  was 
the  grave  of  many  a  wrecked  soul,  and  no  one  could 
gaze  on  it,  especially  on  such  a  night  as  this,  with- 
out feeling  a  shiver  pass  through  his  frame. 

On  the  Leonard  Street  side  near  Centre  Street: 
was  a  small  iron  grating  which  gave  passage  to  the 
keeper's  office  on  the  ground  floor.  Near  this  gra- 
ting on  the  inside  a  fat,  good-natured  door-keeper, 
not  over-intelligent  or  quick-witted,  but  willing  and 
obliging,  sat  dozing  away  the  hours  in  a  big,  wooden 
arm-chair.  He  had  been  appointed  to  the  job  by 
some  political  friend,  and  it  was  deemed  a  sinecure, 
for  his  somnolence  was  rarely  disturbed  after  night- 
fall. He  was  rudely  awakened  from  his  dreams  of 
participating  in  a  political  chowder  party  by  the 
grating  being  forcibly  shaken.  Rubbing  the  sleep 
from  his  eyes,  he  demanded  who  was  there. 

"We  want  to  get  in,"  declared  Harold. 

"Yer  can't — it's  after  hours ;  so  run  away,  sonny," 


136       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

good-humoredly  retorted  the  door-keeper,  settling 
himself  in  his  chair  for  another  nap. 

"Take  this  to  the  warden,"  said  Harold,  passing 
the  Recorder's  note  through  the  iron  bars  of  the 
grating,  "and  here's  a  dollar  for  you  for  your 
trouble." 

The  door-keeper  was  not  too  proud,  as  he  termed 
it,  to  take  small  fees  for  any  little  favors  of  this 
kind.  So  he  pocketed  the  money,  and,  rising  from 
his  chair,  lumbered  off  in  the  dimly  lighted  hallway. 
He  was  gone  for  about  ten  minutes  and  then  re- 
turned with  one  of  the  keepers,  who  held  a  big  iron 
key  in  his  hand. 

"The  boss  says,"  announced  the  latter,  "that  if 
it's  ther  Recorder's  orders,  that  you  and  the  father 
are  to  come  in.  It's  none  of  his  funeral,  though  he's 
never  heern  afore  'bout  visitors  to  ther  prisoners 
at  this  hour  of  ther  night." 

With  that  he  unlocked  a  massive  lock  with  the 
key,  pushed  back  several  iron  bolts,  and  opened  a 
small  door  in  the  grating.  Harold  and  the  Sog- 
garth  Aroon  passed  into  the  prison  and  then  the 
door  was  locked  and  bolted  again. 

The  warden  of  the  city  jail,  who  was  primarily 


FACE  TO  FACE  137 

responsible  for  the  safe-guarding  of  the  prisoners, 
was  seated  at  a  high  desk,  in  front  of  which  was 
a  brass  guard-rail  to  keep  applicants  for  admission 
at  a  proper  distance.  He  was  high  up  in  city  politics 
and  had  been  that  evening  attending  a  meeting  of 
leaders  of  his  party  called  for  the  pleasing  pastime 
of  dividing  up  the  patronage.  The  meeting  had  been 
a  protracted  one,  for  each  leader  wanted  to  secure 
the  lion's  share  of  the  spoils  of  office  for  his  own  dis- 
trict, and  he  had  returned  to  the  jail  only  a  few  mo- 
ments ago.  He  was  holding  in  his  hands  the  Re- 
corder's note  which  he  had  just  read. 

"So  you  want  to  see  Jack  McQuillan,"  he  said. 
"I  s'pose  it's  all  right  'cause  the  Recorder  orders  it, 
but  it's  the  first  time  it's  been  done  in  the  Tombs  to 
my  knowledge,  an'  I've  had  a  job  in  this  prison  for 
the  last  twenty-five  years." 

"We  know  it  is  out  of  the  regular  order,"  said 
Harold,  "but  as  the  prisoner  will  be  sent  to  Sing 
Sing " 

"He's  booked  for  the  9  A.  M.  train,"  interrupted 
the  keeper.  "All  right,  you  shall  see  him.  Do  you 
want  to  speak  to  him,  too,  father  ?"  he  asked,  turning 
to  the  Soggarth  Aroon,  whom  he  well  knew  and 
respected. 


138       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"I  would  like  to  say  a  few  last  consoling  words 
before  he  is  taken  away,"  replied  the  priest 

"Here,  Bill,"  said  the  warden,  addressing  his 
subordinate,  "take  the  gent  and  the  father  to  the 
counsel-room  and  bring  the  prisoner  to  them.  They 
can  talk  to  him  for  half  an  hour,  then  take  the  pris- 
oner back  to  his  cell  and  let  the  visitors  out.  I'm 
off  to  bed.  I'm  dead  tired  out." 

With  that  he  went  to  his  own  apartments,  which, 
with  his  family,  he  occupied  in  the  jail,  while  the 
keeper,  unlocking  the  door  that  led  to  the  corridors 
of  the  prison  itself,  escorted  Harold  and  his  com- 
panion to  the  large  room  known  as  the  counsel- 
room,  into  which  prisoners  are  taken  for  consulta- 
tions with  their  lawyers.  Here  they  were  locked  in 
while  the  keeper  went  to  fetch  the  doomed  man. 

He  was  gone  about  fifteen  minutes  and  then  re- 
turned, bringing  with  him  the  much  wondering  pris- 
oner, who  had  simply  been  told  to  get  up  and  follow 
the  official  without  being  given  any  reason  why.  A 
moment  later  Jack  McQuillan  entered  the  counsel- 
room. 

The  wealthy  employer  and  his  death-doomed  em- 
ployee were  face  to  face. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STRIKE        139 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STRIKE 

FOR  a  moment  the  two  gazed  at  each  other  in 
silence.  In  the  faces  of  both  there  was  a  look 
of  something  like  curiosity.  Harold  had  noted  the 
man's  shuffling  gait  as  he  entered,  his  lowered  head 
and  general  hang-dog  appearance.  He  gazed  at  his 
rough,  workingman's  clothes,  consisting  of  dark 
tweed  trousers,  checked  muslin  shirt,  and  a  sack 
coat,  his  ungainly  if  Herculean  form  and  the  low 
grade  of  intelligence  in  his  bristly,  unshaven  face. 
He  surveyed  him  as  one  would  look  at  a  strange 
animal  through  the  bars  of  its  cage,  and  the  thought 
occurred  to  him  whether,  if  things  were  different, 
if  he  were  not  his  father's  son  and  the  inheritor  of 
that  father's  wealth,  he,  too,  might  not  be  as  miser- 
able an  object  as  the  man  who  stood  before  him,  a 
victim  of  heredity  and  environment. 


140        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

In  Jack  McQuillan's  eyes  the  late  boss's  son  was 
also,  as  already  stated,  an  object  of  curiosity.  He 
had  never  in  his  life  mingled  with  any  but  his  own 
work-a-day  class,  and  this  fine  gentleman  in  a  frock 
coat  and  shiny  silk  hat  seemed  to  him  almost  like  a 
vision  from  another  world.  Almost  mechanically  he 
raised  his  powerful,  toil-calloused  hands — those 
hands  that  had  choked  the  life  out  of  a  fellow-crea- 
ture— and  compared  them  with  the  white,  tapering 
fingers  of  the  young  aristocrat.  Then,  as  if  moved 
by  an  involuntary  impulse,  he  blurted  out : 

"Say,  boss,  if  you'd  a-worked  as  hard  fur  a  livin' 
as  I  did,  yer  hands  wouldn't  a-looked  any  whiter'n 
mine." 

"Come,  none  of  that!"  interjected  the  keeper. 
"No  insolence  to  the  gentleman,  or  back  to  your 
cell  you  go !" 

Harold  raised  his  hand  to  interpose. 

"Let  the  man  talk,"  he  said.  "That  is  what  I 
came  here  for — to  listen  to  what  he  has  to  say  for 
himself.  And  he  is  right;  it  is  only  an  accident  of 
birth  and  breeding  which  makes  all  the  difference 
between  us." 

"It  is  not  the  externals  which  count,"  declared  the 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STRIKE        141 

Soggarth  Aroon;  "I  would  not  exchange  the  man 
with  the  grimy  hands,  but  whose  soul  is  white,  for 
the  fairest-handed  millionaire  who  carries  a  black 
heart  in  his  body." 

At  a  sign  from  Harold  the  keeper  left  the  counsel- 
room,  locking  the  door  behind  him.  It  was  not 
necessary  for  him  to  be  present  at  the  interview,  as 
there  was  no  apparent  possibility  of  the  escape  of 
the  prisoner. 

"Now,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  young  heir  to 
the  Armytage  millions,  "the  first  thing  I  want  to  do 
is  to  shake  hands  with  you  to  prove  that  I,  at  least, 
am  your  friend." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  the  other  somewhat 
timidly  placed  his  own  in  it.  Harold  gave  him  a 
cordial  clasp  and  then  continued  : 

"Now  let  me  hear  the  whole  story  of  your  life, 
how  you  were  brought  up,  how  you  came  to  be  in 
my  father's  employ,  and  what  induced  you  to  com- 
mit the  crime  for  which  you  were  convicted.  It  is 
only  if  you  freely  and  frankly  tell  me  and  the  good 
father  here  all  about  yourself  that  I  may  be  of  some 
sort  of  assistance  to  you.  What  kind  I  do  not  yet 
know  myself,  but  I  assure  you  that  I  came  here  at 


142        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

this  hour  of  the  night,  leaving  my  sister  and  my 
friends  at  a  festive  gathering  in  my  honor,  for  this 
very  purpose." 

"Yer  very  kind  ter  do  so,"  said  Jack,  with  a  touch 
of  feeling  in  his  usual  stolid  manner.  "Yer  'minds 
me  of  yer  father — God  rest  his  soul — who,  too,  had 
a  kind  heart  an'  a  feelin'  fer  those  who  worked 
under  him,  though  he  wasn't  as  elegant  a  lookin' 
gent  as  you  are,  nor  wor  his  hands  so  white." 

Harold  acknowledged  this  eulogy  of  his  dead 
father  with  a  sympathetic  pressure  of  the  other's 
hand,  and  then  Jack  began  his  story,  giving  an  ac- 
count of  his  boyhood  days,  and  the  sufferings  his 
mother  and  sister  had  undergone,  in  much  the  same 
words  as  he  had  already  told  it  to  the  Soggarth 
Aroon.  Then  he  continued  : 

"So  long's  yer  father  lived  we  had  no  trouble  at 
ther  works.  We  were  allus  a  union  shop  an'  there 
never  was  no  sich  t'ing  as  a  strike.  It  wuz  a  sorry 
day  for  us,  boss,  when  he  died  an'  you  went  off  ter 
furrin  parts,  leavin'  ther  works  ter  be  managed  by 
Mr.  Chubb." 

"You  think,"  asked  Harold,  in  a  serious  tone, 
"that  I  neglected  my  duty  in  seeking  pleasure  abroad 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STRIKE        143 

instead  of  remaining  at  home  and  engaging  actively 
in  the  business  I  had  inherited?" 

"  'Scuse  me  fur  sayin'  so,  boss,"  apologetically 
replied  Jack,  "but  dat's  wot  dey  all  said  at  ther 
shop:  'Der  young  boss  is  off  havin'  a  good  time 
an'  his  workmen  wot  earns  all  der  money  he's 
a-spendin'  kin  go  ter  blazes  for  all  he  cares.'  I  ain't 
sayin'  dat  meself,"  he  hastily  added,  "leastwise  not 
now ;  but  I'm  givin'  yer  der  general  talk  in  ther  shop 
seein'  yer  asked  me  ter." 

"You  need  not  apologize  either  for  yourself  or 
your  fellow  workmen,"  declared  Harold.  "The 
men  were  right.  I  was  wanting  in  my  duty,  and  it 
may  be  that  this  very  act  of  remissness  on  my  part 
is  the  remote  cause,  at  least,  of  your  being  in  this 
jail  to-night.  If  so,  I  owe  an  apology  to  you  and 
your  fellows  rather  than  you  owe  any  to  me." 

Jack  stared  at  him  as  if  the  young  man  was  speak- 
ing in  a  strange  language,  and  strangely  indeed  did 
such  sentiments  sound  in  his  ears.  In  all  his  born 
days  he  had  never  heard  an  employer,  not  even 
Harold's  father,  give  utterance  to  them. 

"If  it  was  wrong  for  you  to  be  cruising  about  in 
your  yacht,"  said  the  Soggarth  Aroon,  "you  sinned, 


144 

if  sin  you  did,  through  ignorance  of  what  the 
two  thousand  men  in  your  employ  might  demand  of 
you  as  sentient,  human  beings,  with  hearts  that 
throbbed  and  bodies  that  suffered,  not  mere  pieces 
of  inanimate  machinery  to  grind  out  more  gold  for 
you.  You  were  not  wilfully  negligent  of  their  in- 
terests, as,  alas !  too  many  other  employers  are." 

"I  recognize  that  I  erred  in  the  darkness  of  ig- 
norance," declared  Harold,  "but  I  am  beginning  to 
see  at  least  a  faint  glimmer  of  light;  I  begin  to 
understand  one  application  of  the  fundamental  truth 
you  proclaimed  at  the  banquet  to-night,  that  we 
all  live  in  the  Brotherhood  of  Man  under  the  Father- 
hood of  God.  I  thank  you,  good  father,  for  teach- 
ing me  that  lesson." 

He  grasped  the  priest's  hand  and  shook  it  warm- 
ly, while  a  tear  of  holy  joy  glistened  in  the  latter's 
eye. 

"Ever  since  Mr.  Chubb  wuz  der  sole  boss,"  con- 
tinued Jack  in  his  narrative,  "he's  been  set  on  down- 
in'  ther  union.  He  couldn't  very  well  make  it  an 
open  shop,  for  yer  father  wuz  a  trades-unionist  him- 
self 'fore  he  became  a  boss  an'  wuz  proud  of  ther 
union  card  he  carried  in  his  pocket  as  long's  he 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STRIKE        145 

lived.  But  wot  Mr.  Chubb  wuz  after  wuz  ter  force 
ther  men  ter  strike  so's  he  could  tell  yer  it  warn't 
his  fault  if  he  had  ter  go  back  on  yer  father's  direc- 
tion ter  keep  ther  works  allus  straight  an'  fair  'cord- 
in'  ter  union  rules." 

"So  then  this  strike  with  all  its  dire  consequences 
was  really  due  to  Silas  Chubb?"  interjected  Harold 
in  surprise.  "Can  that  be  true?" 

"It's  der  truth  I'm  givin'  yer,"  solemnly  assured 
Jack;  "ther  truth  comin'  from  a  man  condemned 
ter  death  an'  who  doesn't  want  ter  die  wid  a  lie 
on  his  lips." 

"I  know  of  the  strike,"  said  the  Soggarth  Aroon, 
who  was  as  deeply  interested  in  the  prisoner's  story 
as  Harold,  "but  not  its  cause.  Tell  us  its  cause." 

"One  of  the  men,"  replied  Jack,  "wuz  hurt  by  a 
piece  of  machinery  fallin'  on  him  an'  was  laid  up 
in  ther  hospital  with  a  broken  knee  for  a  month. 
We  all  t'ought  he  wuz  gettin'  his  wages  regular 
while  he  wuz  away,  same's  if  he  wuz  workin'. 
Dat  wuz  der  rule  durin'  yer  father's  time,  Mr.  Army- 
tage,  an'  we  knowed  no  different.  Soon's  Bill  got 
out  ther  hospital  he  came  limpin'  down  on  his  crutch, 
an'  de  fust  t'ing  he  told  us  wuz  dat  he  hadn't  got  a 


146        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

cent.  Wall,  we  'p'inted  a  committee  to  see  Mr.  Chubb 
about  it,  respeckful  like,  yer  know,  an'  I  wuz  one 
of  de  committee.  Mr.  Chubb  received  us  in  his 
office  all  right  an'  gave  us  de  glad  hand;  but  w'en 
we  stated  our  errand  it  wuz  de  marble  heart  we  got. 
He  wuz  awfully  sorry,  he  said,  in  dat  silky,  smooth 
style  o*  talkin'  he  has,  but  he  didn't  see  his  way  clear 
ter  pay  Bill  for  work  he  hadn't  done.  He  doubted, 
he  said,  wedder  he  had  any  right  ter  pay  out  de 
money.  He  wuz  only  de  executor  of  de  estate  an' 
he  would  be  breakin'  de  law  if  he  paid  it.  We  asked 
him  if  dat  held  good  as  to  anybody  wot  got  hurt  in 
der  shop,  an'  he  says  it  did. 

"Den  we  told  him  that  der  old  boss,  meanin'  yer 
father,  allus  paid  a  man  his  wages  when  he  wuz 
away  sick,  no  matter  wedder  it  was  'cause  he  got 
hurt  or  not.  He  said  he  wuz  aware  of  dat,  but  dat 
sich  payments  were  allus  charged  to  Mr.  Armytage's 
private  charity  account  and  dat  der  business  itself 
had  nothin'  ter  do  wid  it,  an'  dat  no  one  could  order 
sich  payments  'ceptin'  yourself,  who  wuz  away,  an' 
your  sister,  who  wuz  in  college,  'sides  not  bein'  yet 
of  age.  We  asked  him  if  he  knew  when  you'd  come 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STRIKE        147 

back,  an'  he  said  he  hadn't  de  least  idee,  an'  den  he 
perlitely  bowed  us  out  of  der  office." 

"It  was  indeed  but  a  trick  to  exasperate  the  men," 
indignantly  declared  Harold.  "He  knew  well 
enough  that  neither  I  nor  my  sister  would  ever  ob- 
ject to  such  payments,  and  we  are  the  only  ones  who 
would  have  a  right  to  do  so.  I  suppose  the  men 
were  very  angry  when  you  reported  the  result  of 
your  mission  ?" 

"Dey  wuz  hoppin'  mad,  sir;  dey  said  it  wuz  an 
outrage  io  a  works  like  dat  where  accidents  were 
likely  to  happen  every  day,  dough  Bill's  wuz  der 
fust  since  yer  father  died.  We  wrote  Mr.  Chubb  a 
letter  sayin'  dat  he  must  agree  to  pay  for  lost  time 
caused  by  an  accident  or  we  wud  strike,  and  de 
committee  wuz  sent  back  to  deliver  der  letter  ter 
him  pussonly.  He  read  it,  den  coolly  tore  it  up  an' 
threw  der  fragments  in  der  waste-basket.  'Very 
well,  gentlemen/  he  den  sez  to  us,  'strike  away.  No 
such  rule  will  be  established  in  dese  works.  Even 
if  I  had  wanted  to  do  it,  I  wouldn't  do  it  now.  I 
allow  no  dictation  from  my  employees.  Good-morn- 
in' ' — and  der  strike  wuz  on." 

"Oh,  that  I  had  been  communicated  with!"  ex- 


148        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

claimed  Harold.  "All  this  would  have  been  differ- 
ent. But  the  crime  for  which  you  were  sentenced — 
how  did  that  happen?" 

"I'm  comin'  ter  dat  now,"  replied  Jack.  "We  laid 
down  our  tools  an'  walked  out  dat  same  afternoon. 
Yer  mightn't  believe  it,  but  I'm  a-tellin'  yer  der 
truth,  as  we  marched  out  one  doorway  of  der  works, 
a  gang  of  scabs  came  marchin'  in  by  anudder  door. 
Dat  wuz  proof  positive  dat  Mr.  Chubb  had  been 
preparin'  fur  a  strike  fur  a  long  time  widout  us 
knowin'  a  t'ing  about  it.  If  we  wuz  mad  before, 
yer  kin  believe  we  wuz  red-hot  now,  an'  we  swore 
dat  we  wud  down  der  scabs  wot  wuz  takin'  der 
bread  out  o'  our  mouths." 

"There's  where  you  boys  made  a  mistake.  You 
had  no  right  to  indulge  in  any  threats  or  violence," 
suggested  Harold. 

"I  s'pose  so,"  gloomily  answered  the  prisoner. 
"An'  dat's  ther  same  wot  der  judge  said  ter  me  in 
court.  But  it's  not  in  human  natur'  ter  control  yer 
feelin's  when  yer  feel  yer've  been  done  dirt  to.  We 
had  a  scrimmage  wid  der  scabs  when  dey  came  out 
dat  evenin'  an'  licked  'em  good  till  we  were  chased  by 
der  cops.  So  it  went  on  der  nex'  day,  an'  der  nex' 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STRIKE        149 

for  two  weeks.  Den  I  spied  a  dago  wot  I  had  me 
eyes  on  for  several  days  past,  who  wuz  on  me  own 
job  shovelin'  sand  in  der  castin'  room.  He  wuz 
just  goin'  into  ther  foundry  when  I  caught  him 
'roun'  ther  neck  wid  me  two  hands.  I  wuzn't  goin' 
ter  hurt  him  much;  just  lug  him  into  ther  middle 
of  ther  street  an'  let  him  drop.  But  dat  dago  gave 
one  squawk  an'  died  in  me  hands.  Believe  me,  boss, 
I  didn't  mean  ter  kill  him !  I  didn't  know  I  had 
dat  strength  in  me  hands,  but  der  judge  said  it 
made  no  difference  wedder  I  meant  ter  kill  him 
or  not — it  wuz  murder  in  der  fust  degree,  all  der 
same." 

"I  presume,"  said  Harold,  "he  referred  to  the 
law  that  intent  to  kill  need  not  be  shown  when  a 
homicide  takes  place  during  the  commission  of  an 
unlawful  act.  From  a  legal  standpoint  you  were 
justly  convicted,  and  the  death  sentence  is  imposed 
by  the  statute." 

"I  ain't  got  much  t'ought  nor  care  'bout  meself," 
said  Jack,  wiping  a  furtive  tear  from  his  eyes.  "I 
can  meet  me  fate  as  bravely  as  any  man.  But  it 
wuz  my  poor  sister  Maggie  an'  der  men  from  der 
shop  I  wuz  a-t'inkin'  of  when  I  begged  the  good 


1 50   THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

father  to  have  yer  come  ter  see  me.  Yer'll  do  some- 
thing fer  Mag,  when  I'm  gone,  won't  yer?  Poor 
gal !  she  fainted  in  ther  courtroom  when  I  wuz  sen- 
tenced. An'  get  dis  here  strike  settled.  De  men 
has  got  deir  wives  and  children  ter  look  after  an' 
it's  hard — very  hard — fer  dem  ter  stand  up  in  der 
cause  of  justice  and  der  union  when  dere's  not  a 
dollar  in  der  house,  an'  der  butcher  an'  der  baker 
an'  der  landlord  is  a-callin'  for  wot's  comin'  to 
dem.  You'll  see  Mr.  Chubb,  won't  yer?  You'll  ex- 
plain ter  him  dat  you've  no  objection  to  payin'  der 
men  fer  time  lost  by  accidents  in  ther  works,  same's 
yer  father  did,  an'  dat  yer  want  it  ter  be  a  union 
shop,  same's  yer  father  had?  An'  den  he'll  have 
no  'scuse  but  must  call  der  men  back  again.  If 
yer'll  do  dat,  it'll  be  all  I  ask.  I  kin  den  go  to  der 
chair  wid  de  t'ought  dat  my  death,  at  least,  has 
brought  about  some  good." 

While  Jack  was  thus  earnestly  pleading  for  his 
sister  and  his  shopmates,  Harold  stood  immovable, 
listening  to  him  intently  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
floor.  Now  he  suddenly  raised  his  head  and  looked 
at  the  Soggarth  Aroon. 

"Father,"  he  hurriedly  said,  "I  wish  to  give  the 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STRIKE       151 

prisoner  an  assurance  which  I  would  not  care  to 
have  the  jail  official  overhear.  Will  you  please  step 
to  the  grating  at  the  door  and  give  me  notice  if  you 
see  him  coming?" 

The  good  priest  gave  the  young  man  a  searching 
glance,  and  a  ghost  of  a  smile  for  an  instant  hovered 
around  the  corner  of  his  lips.  Then,  without  a  word, 
he  went  to  the  door  and  stationed  himself  in  front  of 
the  grating  in  such  a  manner  that,  while  his  broad 
form  shut  out  a  view  from  the  outside  of  what  was 
passing  on  within  the  room,  he  also  could  not  see 
what  was  going  on  without  turning  around  his  head. 

As  soon  as  the  priest's  back  was  turned  to  them, 
Harold  tip-toed  to  Jack's  side,  and,  grasping  him 
by  the  hand,  leaned  toward  him  until  their  heads 
fairly  touched,  and  whispered  in  his  ear : 

"I  will  not  only  do  all  you  ask  me,  but  will  also 
save  your  life!" 


152 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  ESCAPE 

TACK  McQUILLAN  gave  a  start  as  he  heard 
^  these  words,  but  the  ejaculation  which  rose  to 
his  lips  was  stifled  by  Harold's  hand. 

"Hush!"  the  latter  hurriedly  whispered;  "not  a 
word ;  not  a  sound ;  I'm  going  to  get  you  out  of  here 
right  now.  I'm  going  to  take  your  place.  They  can't 
do  much  to  me ;  I  have  committed  no  murder.  Off 
with  your  jacket,  and  put  on  my  vest  and  coat. 
The  Prince  Albert  will  go  down  below  your  knees, 
and  if  you  keep  it  buttoned  up  in  front  it  will,  to- 
gether with  my  high  hat  and  overcoat,  practically 
disguise  you.  Only  keep  your  face  well  in  the  shade. 
Not  suspecting  an  escape,  they  will  not  scrutinize 
you  closely.  Play  your  part  well,  and  in  five  min- 
utes you  will  be  a  free  man." 


THE  ESCAPE  153 

"Arid  you?"  gurgled  the  prisoner,  as  Harold  re- 
moved his  hand  from  the  other's  mouth. 

"I'll  be  Jack  McQuillan  for  a  little  while  and  then 
we'll  see  what  happens." 

"But,  sir " 

"No  buts!  I'm  your  boss,  you  know.  Do  as  I 
command !" 

Thus  fairly  ordered  to  make  the  change,  Jack 
McQuillan  quickly  effected  it,  and,  in  the  dim  light 
which  filtered  into  the  counsel-room  from  the  gas- 
jet  in  the  corridor,  it  would  have  taken  a  very  keen 
glance  indeed  to  establish  the  identity  of  the  two 
men. 

"My  carriage  is  at  the  door,"  whispered  Harold, 
as  he  gave  some  finishing  touches  to  the  prisoner's 
disguise.  "Get  into  it  with  the  Soggarth,  if  you 
get  safely  out  of  the  jail.  The  carriage  will  be 
driven  to  my  home.  Get  out  of  it  in  some  way 
before  it  reaches  there,  and  you  will  be  free.  Only 
don't  let  the  good  father  suspect  your  identity;  his 
conscience  would  oblige  him  to  prevent  your  es- 
cape." 

Before  Jack  could  mutter  a  reply,  the  priest  an- 
nounced that  the  keeper  was  approaching. 


154       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"All  right,"  said  Harold,  speaking  in  such  a  way 
that  his  voice  seemed  to  come  from  where  his  tem- 
porary double  was  standing.  "I've  told  McQuillan 
all  I  had  to  say.  We  are  ready  now  to  leave." 

The  official  now  came  to  the  door,  and,  unlock- 
ing and  opening  it,  said :  "Don't  you  think  it's  'bout 
time  for  this  interview  to  end  and  the  prisoner  to 
be  taken  back  to  his  cell  ?" 

"I  was  just  about  to  call  you  to  let  us  out,"  de- 
clared Harold,  inwardly  thanking  his  stars  that  he 
was  something  of  a  ventriloquist  and  could  send  his 
voice  in  whatever  direction  he  pleased.  "I'm  glad 
we  came  and  had  our  talk  with  the  prisoner.  You 
will  find  him  more  tractable  and  he  will  follow  you  to 
his  cell  without  a  word." 

"He'd  better  do  so,  if  he  knows  what's  good  for 
him,"  grimly  replied  the  keeper,  displaying  a  long, 
heavy  policeman's  club.  "I'll  take  youse  gents  out 
fust;  ther  prisoner  kin  stay  here  till  I  comes  back." 

So  saying,  he  permitted  the  Soggarth  Aroon,  who 
little  suspected  that  he  was  unwittingly  assisting  in 
an  escape,  to  pass  out  of  the  counsel-room  into  the 
corridor,  followed  by  Jack  McQuillan,  who  care- 
fully kept  his  face  turned  away  from  the  priest  and 


THE  ESCAPE  155 

the  official.  The  latter  securely  locked  his  prisoner, 
as  he  supposed,  in  the  room,  and  escorted  the  two 
men  along  the  corridor,  through  the  now  completely 
deserted  office,  to  where  the  door-keeper  was  guard- 
ing the  outer  gate. 

"Let  'em  out,  Jim,"  he  directed  the  latter.  "It's 
ther  swell  gent  an'  ther  priest  who  came  here  on  the 
Recorder's  order.  It's  all  right." 

Having  no  cause  to  believe  otherwise,  the  door- 
keeper drew  back  the  bolts,  unlocked  and  opened  the 
iron  gate,  and  the  next  minute  the  prisoner  was  on 
the  sidewalk,  drinking  in  deep  draughts  of  the  free 
air  of  heaven.  Thus  easily  did  Jack  McQuillan 
make  his  escape  from  the  Tombs  by  a  method  suc- 
cessfully accomplished  many  times  before  this  par- 
ticular night,  and  many  times  since. 

The  Armytage  carriage  was  standing  at  the  curb, 
the  driver  dozing  on  his  box  while  awaiting  his  mas- 
ter's return.  Rubbing  the  sleep  out  of  his  eyes, 
he  descended  and  held  the  door  open  for  them  to 
enter  the  vehicle.  Then  he  closed  it  with  a  bang, 
got  up  on  his  seat,  and,  lashing  the  horses,  started 
off  at  a  rattling  pace  for  the  Fifth  Avenue  home. 
For  a  time  the  two  men  in  the  carriage  made  no 


156        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

attempt  to  speak  to  each  other.  The  good  father 
had  a  habit  of  indulging  in  a  reverie  at  almost  every 
convenient  opportunity;  a  reverie  in  which  his  mind 
wandered  from  the  concrete  object  to  the  abstract 
generalization  of  which  it  could  be  made  a  lesson. 
He  thought  what  an  example  Harold  Armytage's 
conduct  this  night  would  be  to  employers  in  general 
if  they  could  be  made  aware  of  it.  How  a  kind 
word,  an  acknowledgment  of  the  rights  of  the  men 
serving  under  them,  and  their  moral  duties  to  their 
employees,  would  smooth  the  way  to  a  better  un- 
derstanding between  capital  and  labor;  how  many 
strikes  and  lock-outs  would  be  thereby  obviated; 
how  much  of  misery  and  suffering,  of  hardship  and 
crime  which  now  existed  in  the  world  would  be 
wiped  out!  In  his  mental  ecstasy  the  good  man 
erected  a  Utopia  in  which  all  employers  were  good 
and  kind  and  forbearing,  and  all  workingmen 
peaceful  and  active  and  industrious,  each  class  work- 
ing for  the  interests  of  the  other,  rather  than  for 
their  own,  and,  in  the  end,  finding  they  had  mutual- 
ly benefited  themselves,  morally,  physically  and 
financially.  So  radiant  and  glorious  did  this  vision 
appear  to  the  Soggarth  Aroon,  that  he  turned  to 


THE  ESCAPE  157 

his  companion  to  speak  to  him  about  it,  but  the  lat- 
ter appeared  sunk  in  a  heavy  sleep. 

Jack  McQuillan  had  thought  it  best  to  feign 
a  deep  slumber  as  the  easiest  means  of  avoiding  any 
premature  discovery  of  his  identity  by  the  priest; 
but  though  he  kept  his  eyes  shut,  his  brain  was  busy 
— not  on  a  proposition  for  a  general  amelioration  of 
the  condition  of  mankind,  but  intent  on  his  own  per- 
sonal safety  and  how  he,  in  turn,  could  be  of  as- 
sistance to  the  noble  man  who  had  sacrificed  his 
own  liberty  to  procure  his  escape. 

"If  I  gets  out  o'  here  widout  bein'  spotted  by  the 
father,"  he  thought,  "I'll  make  a  bee-line  fur  Jack- 
son Street.  I  knows  a  man  dere  wot  fixes  up  crooks 
so's  ther  police  can't  nab  'em.  I  ain't  a  crook,  dough 
dey  tells  me  I'm  a  murderer,  but  dis  man'll  help 
me  all  de  same.  I'll  have  him  fix  me  up  as  a 
darky;  ho  one'll  be  lookin'  fur  me  in  a  black  man, 
an'  I  kin  stay  'round  dese  diggin's,  watch  over  poor 
Maggie  an'  do  a  good  turn,  mebbe,  fur  de  young 
boss — God  bless  him  fur  wot  he's  done  fur  me  ter- 
night!" 

Thus  his  thoughts  were  running,  but  he  kept  his 
eyes  tightly  closed  and  his  tall  hat  tilted  over  his 


158        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

face,  as  the  Soggarth  turned  toward  him,  while  he 
breathed  somewhat  stertorously,  like  one  in  a  sleep 
of  utter  exhaustion. 

"He's  dead  asleep,"  muttered  the  priest,  survey- 
ing the  recumbent  form  but  dimly  outlined  in  the 
gloom  of  the  interior  of  the  carriage ;  "and  no  won- 
der, considering  the  strenuous  life  he  has  been  lead- 
ing since  last  evening.  Returning  to  the  city  after  a 
tour  of  the  world,  rushing  home  to  be  the  guest  of 
honor  at  a  dinner,  then  hurrying  to  the  Tombs  to 
be  of  some  benefit  to  a  fellow  man !  He  deserves  his 
well-earned  rest." 

The  good  father  lapsed  into  silence,  and,  because 
Jack's  example  was  infectious,  or  that  the  father,  too, 
had  been  leading  a  strenuous  life,  the  fact  is  he 
began  to  feel  drowsy  himself. 

"I  was  going  to  ask  him  to  let  me  out  at  the 
corner  near  where  I  reside,"  he  murmured  with  a 
yawn,  "but  I  should  hate  to  wake  him  up.  Let  him 
sleep  until  we  reach  his  home,  and  then  I  will  bid 
him  good-night,  or  rather  good-morning,  for  it  must 
be  after  two  o'clock  now.  Meanwhile,  I'll  take  a 
little  nap  myself." 

He  settled  himself  in  a  comfortable  position,  and 


THE  ESCAPE  159 

soon  his  eyes  closed  in  gentle  sleep.  Jack  McQuillan 
heard  the  good  priest's  regular  breathing,  and,  gaz- 
ing at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  noticed  that 
the  venerable  man  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
innocent. 

"Now's  me  time,"  he  muttered,  sitting  up  and 
pushing  his  hat  up  on  his  head.  "Der  father's  dead 
to  ther  woild,  an'  here's  where  I  makes  me  skip." 

The  carriage  was  going  at  a  fairly  rattling  pace 
and  he  knew  that  the  noise  of  the  wheels  on  the 
stones  of  the  street  would  drown  any  slight  sounds 
he  might  make.  Yet  he  observed  the  utmost  pre- 
caution, not  only  to  leave  the  sleeper  undisturbed, 
but  also  to  avoid  attracting  the  attention  of  the  coach- 
man. So,  silently  as  he  could,  he  opened  the  car- 
riage door  a  trifle,  and  held  it  so  that  it  would  not 
swing  open  altogether.  Then  he  paused  to  listen. 
The  sleeping  priest  made  no  motion;  the  coachman 
did  not  slacken  the  speed  of  the  horses.  So  far,  so 
good.  He  peered  out  into  the  street  through  the 
glass  of  the  door.  They  were  passing  through  an 
ultra-fashionable  side  street  uptown,  which  crossed 
Fifth  Avenue.  Outside  of  the  lighted  lamp-posts 
at  the  corners,  the  street  was  shrouded  in  darkness, 


160        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

not  a  gleam  of  light  was  to  be  seen  in  any  of  the 
windows  of  the  big  brown-stone  mansions  which 
lined  either  side,  no  pedestrian  was  in  sight,  no 
policeman  was  patrolling  the  sidewalk.  Jack  had 
never  been  in  this  neighborhood  before,  but  he 
trusted  to  luck  to  find  his  way  from  this  portion  of 
the  town,  so  deserted  at  night,  to  the  more  populous 
East  Side.  The  carriage  just  then  was  in  about  the 
center  of  the  block,  farthest  away  from  the  lamp- 
lights, and,  therefore,  in  its  darkest  portion. 

"Here  goes!"  he  muttered,  opening  the  door  a 
little  farther.  Then  he  slipped  out  of  the  vehicle, 
still  holding  on  to  the  door,  and  placed  his  feet  on 
the  carriage  steps.  Here  he  remained  for  a  minute 
or  two,  and  then  he  softly  reclosed  the  door.  Some 
repairs  were  being  made  to  a  building,  and  in  the 
street  in  front  of  it  was  a  mound  of  sand.  As  the 
carriage  reached  that  spot,  Jack  let  go  his  hold 
and  dropped  on  to  the  mound.  The  soft,  yielding 
sand  deadened  the  sound  of  the  fall,  and  saved  him 
from  any  injury  he  might  have  sustained. 

The  carriage  with  the  driver  and  its  remaining 
inmate,  utterly  oblivious  of  what  had  just  taken 
place,  rolled  on,  and  at  the  corner  turned  into  Fifth 


THE  ESCAPE  161 

Avenue.  Jack  McQuillan  waited  in  breathless  sus- 
pense until  the  last  sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs  had 
died  away,  and  then,  scrambling  to  his  feet, 
shook  the  sand  from  his  garments.  He  gazed  up 
and  down  the  street.  His  escape  had  been  observed 
by  nobody. 

"Free,  free  at  last!"  he  exultantly  muttered,  and 
then  the  darkness  swallowed  him  up  as  he  slunk 
away. 

The  carriage  proceeded  up  Fifth  Avenue  until  it 
came  to  a  sudden  halt  before  the  Armytage  resi- 
dence. The  sudden  stoppage  awoke  the  Soggarth 
Aroon  with  a  jolt  out  of  his  pious  dreams.  For  a 
moment  he  was  confused  and  did  not  realize  where 
he  was.  Then,  rubbing  the  sleep  out  of  his  eyes, 
he  turned  to  where  his  companion  had  been  re- 
clining. 

"Mr.  Armytage,"  he  began,  and  then  stopped 
short,  with  open-mouthed  surprise. 

The  seat  next  to  his  was  vacant ! 

"Why,  bless  my  soul !"  he  exclaimed. 

At  that  moment  the  coachman  opened  the  door  of 
the  carriage,  while  a  number  of  persons  appeared 
pn  the  steps  of  the  brilliantly  illuminated  mansion, 


162        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

from  which  the  strains  of  dance  music  drifting  out 
gave  evidence  that  the  revelry  was  still  in  full  blast. 
The  carriage  had  been  heard  coming,  and  among 
those  who  had  issued  out  to  welcome  back  the  young 
heir  were  his  sister  and  Alicia  Chubb. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Armytage?"  stammeringly  asked 
the  priest  of  the  coachman. 

"That's  what  I'd  like  to  know,"  replied  the  latter 
in  an  astonished  tone. 

"He  may  have  got  out  ahead  and  gone  into  the 
house,"  suggested  the  good  father. 

"I  know  he  didn't,  or  I'd  'a'  seen  him,"  declared 
the  coachman.  "I  jumped  off  the  box  as  soon  as  I 
halted  the  horses  and  nobody's  opened  that  door 
before  me.  Besides,  there's  his  folks  out  on  the 
steps  now,  waiting  for  him." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  called  out  Gladys,  seeing 
there  was  something  wrong.  "Where  is  Mr. 
Harold?" 

"That  is  what  we'd  like  to  know,"  said  the  Sog- 
garth  Aroon,  mounting  the  steps.  "He  was  in  the 
carriage  with  me,  and  now  he  is  gone." 

"That  is  very  strange,"  declared  the  Recorder, 
who,  with  the  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere  and  Silas 


THE  ESCAPE  163 

Chubb,  had  come  out  to  join  the  girls.  "Very 
strange  and  very  mysterious !  May  I  beg  you, 
father,  to  give  us  a  brief  account  of  your  trip  to  the 
Tombs  with  Mr.  Armytage  and  of  your  ride  back 
to  this  place?" 

The  Soggarth  Aroon  did  so,  but  even  in  the 
telling  of  the  story  he  now  began  to  have  an  inkling 
of  the  truth,  and  grew  pale  and  red  by  turns;  as 
he  proceeded,  his  voice  faltered  and  became  choked 
with  tears. 

"Surely,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  do  not  think  that 
the  man  in  the  coach  with  me  was  not  Mr.  Army- 
tage?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  declared  the  Recorder  in  an 
angry  tone  of  voice.  "It  was  the  prisoner  whom  I 
condemned  to  death,  and  he,  taking  advantage  of 
the  nap  you  say  you  indulged  in,  made  good  his 
escape — an  escape  in  which  Mr.  Armytage  con- 
nived, making  base  use  of  the  permission  I  gave 
him  to  enter  the  prison." 

"If  my  brother  did  what  you  say,"  defiantly  ex- 
claimed Gladys,  "he  did  so  for  reasons  good  and  suf- 
ficient to  him,  and  I  am  proud  of  him  for  having  the 
courage  to  do  it." 


164       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"Bravo!"  cried  the  Marquis,  clapping  his  hands, 
as  in  duty  bound.  "Permit  me  the  privilege  of 
sharing  your  sentiments,  mademoiselle." 

Gladys  gave  him  a  grateful  look  for  his  support, 
which,  being  observed  by  Mrs.  Van,  brought  a  smile 
of  satisfaction  to  that  worthy  person's  lips,  as  she 
already  mentally  figured  her  share  of  Gladys' 
dowry. 

"Why — why,"  spluttered  Silas  Chubb,  "this  is  an 
unheard-of  outrage!  Assisting  a  prisoner  to  es- 
cape— and  that  a  condemned  murderer — one  of  the 
anarchists  who  would  next  have  thrown  a  bomb  into 
the  works !  And  that  Harold  should  do  this  of  all 

men!     Why,   the  man  must  be  crazy — mad  as  a 

« 

March  hare !" 

"But  where  is  Mr.  Armytage?"  asked  Alicia,  in 
great  trepidation  for  the  personal  safety  of  the  man 
she  secretly  loved. 

"Where  is  he?"  repeated  the  Recorder  in  accents 
of  scorn.  "Go  to  the  Tombs  and  you  will  find  him 
there.  Go  to  the  cell  in  Murderers'  Row  until  re- 
cently occupied  by  the  escaped  convict  and  you  will 
find  this  fine  gentleman,  who  has  set  all  the  laws  of 
the  land  at  defiance,  masquerading  in  Jack  McQuil- 


THE  ESCAPE  165 

lan's  cast-off  garments !  Oh,  it  is  an  old  trick — this 
changing  of  clothes  and  substitution  of  persons !  I'm 
surprised  the  prison  officials  permitted  themselves 
to  be  so  easily  hoodwinked.  I  repeat,  if  you  want 
to  find  Harold  Armytage,  go  look  for  him  in  the 
Tombs!" 

As  if  in  corroboration  of  his  words  a  messenger 
boy  with  a  telegram  in  his  hand  approached  him. 

"Please,  Yer  Honor,"  said  the  boy,  "I  was  up  ter 
Yer  Honor's  house  ter  deliver  dis,  an'  dey  sent  me 
here." 

He  handed  the  Recorder  the  telegram.  Tear- 
ing open  the  envelope  which  contained  it,  the  Re- 
corder read  the  following  message  from  one  of  the 
keepers  at  the  Tombs  : 

"Jack  McQuillan  made  his  escape  through  the 
assistance  of  Armytage.  We  are  holding  the 
latter." 


ii66       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  XIV 


T^HE  keeper,  after  letting  out  the  Soggarth  Aroon 
*  and  the  man  whom  he  thought  to  be  Harold 
Armytage,  did  not  at  once  go  to  the  counsel-room 
to  take  his  prisoner  back  to  the  cell.  He  considered 
him  safely  enough  locked  in  there,  so  that  he  stopped 
to  chat  with  the  door-keeper  about  local  politics, 
which  were  red-hot  just  then,  in  view  of  the  ap- 
proaching November  elections.  They  got  into  a  con- 
troversy as  to  who  would  be  the  best  man  to  sup- 
port for  district  leader  at  the  primaries.  The  keeper 
championed  the  Alderman  of  the  district,  while  the 
door-keeper  sang  the  praises  of  Mike  Dempsey. 

"De  Alderman's  de  man  wot  kin  hold  der  boys 
togedder  wid  der  patronage  he  controls,"  declared 
the  keeper. 

"Big  Mike's  der  feller  wot  kin  deliver  de  goods 


THE  DISCOVERY  167 

on  'lection  day,"  affirmed  the  door-keeper.  "Jest 
tell  him  wot  size  majority  yer  wants,  an'  der  votes'll 
be  dere  when  dey're  counted." 

And  thus  the  argument  continued  for  half  an 
hour  and  finally  ended  in  a  draw,  when  the  keeper 
at  last  remembered  that  he  had  a  duty  to  perform 
in  regard  to  the  prisoner  left  in  the  counsel-room, 
and  left  the  question  undecided  whether  the  political 
fortunes  of  the  district  were  to  be  confided  to  the 
chief  dispenser  of  the  spoils  of  office  or  to  the  leader 
of  a  gang  of  thugs  and  repeaters. 

The  official  went  along  the  corridor  until  he 
reached  the  counsel-room.  Unlocking  and  opening 
the  door  he  entered  the  room,  and,  approaching  the 
prisoner,  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  gruffly 
said: 

"It's  to  de  cell  fur  yours,  Jack;  come  along." 

"Do  you  think  so,  my  good  fellow  ?"  asked  Harold 
in  a  cool  voice,  while  he  stepped  more  into  the 
light.  "Just  look  at  me  closely,  and  perhaps  you'll 
change  your  mind." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  keeper  started  as 
if  an  electric  bolt  had  struck  him. 

"You're  not  the  prisoner !"  he  gasped. 


"Harold  Armytage,  at  your  service,"  replied  our 
hero,  with  a  low  bow.  "The  prisoner  left  here  over 
half  an  hour  ago  and  must  have  made  good  his 
escape  by  this  time." 

The  whole  truth  now  burst  on  the  official,  and 
his  face  paled  as  he  realized  that  unless  the  fugitive 
was  recaptured  and  brought  back  to  his  cell,  it  was 
all  up  with  his  job. 

"D n   the   Recorder!"   he  burst   forth,    "fur 

givin'  you  a  chance  to  play  this  trick  on  us.  We'll 
hold  you,  all  right,  though,  my  man,  while  we  send 
out  a  general  alarm  to  the  police  force." 

"You  may  do  anything  you  please  with  me," 
calmly  replied  Harold,  taking  out  a  cigar  which  he 
happened  to  have  with  him.  He  produced  a  match 
and  struck  a  light.  "I've  accomplished  my  purpose," 
he  added,  "and  I  suppose  I  must  stand  the  conse- 
quences, though,  luckily,  it  isn't  a  hanging  matter." 

He  nonchalantly  puffed  away  at  his  cigar. 

"You'll  find  it  a  matter  of  five  years  State's 
prison  for  you,"  angrily  retorted  the  keeper.  "Drop 
that  cigar.  It's  against  the  rules  for  prisoners  to 
smoke — an*  you're  a  prisoner  now." 

"Excuse  me;  I   forgot,"   said  the  young  man 


THE  DISCOVERY  169 

politely,  as  he  threw  the  cigar  away.  "You'll  find 
me  ready  and  willing  to  obey  all  your  rules." 

"I'll  lock  yer  in  here  while  I  telegraph  to  der 
Recorder  an'  notify  ther  warden  of  wot's  happened. 
He'll  jump  on  me  neck,  I  know,  but  it's  all  der 
fault  of  dat  blamed  Recorder.  If  he  hadn't  given 
yer  dat  note  yer  couldn't  'a'  worked  dis  game." 

"That's  true  as  gospel,"  rejoined  Harold  with  a 
breezy  laugh,  "though  His  Honor  couldn't  have  sus- 
pected what  use  would  be  made  of  his  letter.  I'd 
like  to  see  his  face  when  he  receives  and  reads  your 
telegram." 

For  all  answer  the  official  left  the  room,  slam- 
ming shut  the  door  and  securely  locking  and  bolting 
it.  Then  he  went  to  send  off  the  telegram  which 
the  Recorder  received  and  to  arouse  the  warden 
and  break  the  bad  news  to  him.  When  the  latter 
learned  what  had  happened  he  cursed  everybody, 
from  the  Recorder  down  to  the  door-keeper,  sent 
messages  to  the  sheriff  and  to  police  headquarters, 
and  thus  started  the  hunt  for  the  fugitive  prisoner. 
But  it  was  all  in  vain :  that  unlucky  half  hour's  talk 
on  politics  had  given  Jack  McQuillan  the  time  he 
needed  to  make  good  his  escape. 


170       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"Now  I  wonder  how  the  folks  up  at  the  house 
will  take  it,"  mused  Harold,  sinking  into  one  of 
the  wooden  chairs  in  the  counsel-room.  "There 
they  are  up  there  dancing  the  aristocratic  german 
while  awaiting  my  return,  and  here  am  I,  a  pris- 
oner, who  will  be  charged  with  having  effected  the 
escape  of  a  condemned  murderer.  I  know  what 
Gladys  will  say;  everything  I  do  is  right,  simply 
because  I'm  her  brother.  The  Recorder  will  be 
naturally  indignant  at  the  base  use,  as  he  will  call 
it,  that  was  made  of  his  act  of  courtesy,  though,  as 
a  sensible,  intelligent  man,  he  must  perceive  and 
admit  that  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  this  when 
he  gave  me  the  letter.  Silas  Chubb  will  splutter  and 

• 

fume  about  what  he  will  stigmatize  as  this  new 
phase  of  anarchy  in  which  a  man  belonging  to  the 
higher  circles  of  society  aids  and  assists  the  vilest 
and  lowest  to  defy  the  laws  of  the  land.  But  how 
will  Alicia  regard  my  conduct  ?  I  fancied  I  detected 
a  warmer  tone  in  her  welcome  to  me.  She  appeared 
anxious  to  make  a  good  impression,  and,  by  Jove! 
no  one  can  dispute  that  she  is  a  splendid-looking 
woman.  If  I  were  a  marrying  man  now,  and  dis- 
covered that  she  had  as  good  a  heart  as  she  is  beau- 


THE  DISCOVERY  ^  ;i;i 

tiful  to  look  at,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  to  find  my- 
self actually  falling  in  love  with  her.  But,  bah! 
what  have  I  got  to  do  with  women  or  with  love?" 
he  ejaculated,  rising  from  his  seat.  "What  con- 
cerns me  now  is  how  many  years  at  hard  labor  in 
Sing  Sing  I'm  likely  to  get  for  this.  Of  course, 
the  papers  will  have  a  big  sensation  to  report  to- 
morrow— or,  rather,  to-day,  for  it  must  be  pretty 
near  sunrise.  But  I  don't  care!  My  conscience 
dictated  my  action,  and  it  matters  nothing  to  me 
if  the  whole  world  condemns  me  so  long  as  my  con- 
science approves." 

The  escape  was,  in  fact,  the  big  sensation,  not 
only  of  that  day,  but  of  many  days  to  come.  The 
occurrence  happened  too  late  to  get  into  the  earlier 
editions  of  the  morning  papers,  but  every  paper 
promptly  got  out  an  "extra,"  and  by  nine  o'clock 
the  newsboys  were  already  dashing  through  the 
streets  yelling:  "Extra!  Full  'count  of  der  'scape 
from  der  Tombs!  Millyuneer  helps  murderer  to 
break  jail!" 

At  that  hour,  Harold  sat  in  the  warden's  own 
private  apartment,  eagerly  perusing  the  "extras"  as 
they  were  brought  in  to  him.  When  the  official 


172        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

keeper  of  the  Tombs  came  to  him  he  had  expressed 
no  desire  to  sleep,  but  had  asked  whether  he  could 
not  be  taken  to  some  room,  not  a  cell,  until  he  could 
communicate  with  his  family  and  counsel. 

"As  you're  not  yet  arraigned  in  court  and  regu- 
larly committed,"  the  warden  had  replied,  "I  sup- 
pose you  can  have  any  accommodations  you're  will- 
ing to  pay  for." 

Harold  had  thanked  him  for  his  consideration  and 
had  assured  him  that  he  (Harold)  would  not  put 
him  into  any  more  trouble  by  any  attempts  to  es- 
cape. He  asked  for  and  obtained  a  new  coat  and 
vest  for  those  of  the  convict's  he  wore,  for  a  bath 
and  breakfast,  and  for  pen,  ink  and  paper.  All  his 
wishes  had  been  complied  with.  He  had  written  a 
brief  note  to  the  family  lawyer,  asking  him  to  call 
on  him  at  the  Tombs  at  his  earliest  convenience; 
then  a  long  letter  to  his  sister,  stating  the  motives 
of  his  action,  and  commenting  on  the  way  he  was 
being  treated. 

"Since  my  eyes  were  opened,"  he  wrote,  "to 
what  our  fellow-beings  are  suffering  while  we  are 
indulging  in  unearned  and  useless  luxury,  I  cannot 
help  observing  how  this  class  distinction  penetrates 


THE  DISCOVERY  173 

even  this  prison.  If  a  poor  devil  had  committed  my 
crime — for  such  I  presume  it  is  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law — he  would  have  been  hustled  into  a  filthy,  un- 
sanitary cell,  made  to  sleep  on  a  mattress  thrown 
on  a  wooden  shelf,  fed  on  prison  slops,  and  hurried 
before  a  magistrate,  without,  perhaps,  being  permit- 
ted to  communicate  with  a  living  soul.  But  because 
I  am  Mr.  Armytage — what  they  call  in  their  slang 
a  'swell  guy' — and  am  reputed  to  be  a  millionaire, 
the  entire  establishment  is  at  my  beck  and  call,  as 
if  this  were  a  big  hotel  and  I  the  star  boarder.  In- 
stead of  a  cell,  I  am  occupying  the  warden's  own 
suite  of  rooms.  The  one  I  am  sitting  in,  writing 
this  letter  to  you,  is  on  an  upper  floor  of  the  Tombs, 
large  and  airy,  and  furnished  comfortably,  if  not 
elegantly.  Opening  into  it  is  a  fairly  good-sized 
bedroom,  containing  an  inviting  couch,  on  which  I 
can  sleep  in  comfort  if  I  feel  so  inclined.  My  break- 
fast was  served  me  in  this  room  by  an  outside  caterer 
and  consisted  of  fruit,  a  cereal  with  cream,  poached 
eggs,  steak,  hot  rolls  and  coffee.  The  price  was 
one  dollar,  and  cheap  at  that.  Delmonico  couldn't 
serve  at  double  the  price  a  better  breakfast  with  all 
the  accessories  of  damask  table-cloths  and  napkins, 


174        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

silver  and  fine  china.  I  am  to  have  an  equally  fine 
luncheon  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  at  my  ordinary  din- 
ner hour,  if  I  am  not  meanwhile  bailed  out,  a  regu- 
lar feast,  with  a  bottle  of  champagne  thrown  in,  for 
ten  dollars.  The  warden,  his  wife  and  children, 
wait  on  me  hand  and  foot.  The  warden  went  out 
himself  and  bought  me  a  new  suit  of  clothes;  his 
wife  acts  as  my  waitress,  while  his  children  are  my 
errand  boys.  One  has  taken  my  letter  to  my  lawyer, 
and  the  other  will  bring  you  this  one.  They  all, 
down  to  the  prison  bootblack,  seem  to  vie  in  doing 
honor  to  their  distinguished  guest.  It  is  all  laugh- 
able if  it  were  not  so  pitiful,  and,  while  I  cannot 
help  smiling  over  their  efforts  to  please,  the  unbid- 
den tears  rise  to  my  eyes  when  I  think  how  dam- 
nably wrong  it  all  is.  If  this  is  the  usual  method 
of  treating  the  criminal  rich  when  in  prison,  no 
wonder  they  recklessly  violate  the  law;  no  wonder 
they  become  the  real  anarchists." 

His  letters  having  been  written  and  despatched, 
Harold  was  pleased  when  the  warden  brought  him 
an  armful  of  papers,  saying  that  he  might  wish  to 
read  what  the  newspapers  had  to  say  about  him. 
Every  paper  in  glaring  headlines  had  the  story  of 


THE  DISCOVERY  175 

how  the  rich  man  had  gone  down  to  the  Tombs  and 
had  exchanged  places  with  the  poor,  condemned 
murderer  incarcerated  there.  And  the  thing  em- 
phasized the  most  in  each  article  was  that  it  was 
the  act  of  a  millionaire.  That  a  poor  man  should 
help  a  poor  brother  in  distress  did  not  seem  to  the 
papers  of  any  great  moment ;  such  jail  deliveries  had 
occurred  often,  and,  if  this  one  had  been  like  them, 
it  would  not  have  been  accorded  over  an  inch  or 
two  of  space.  But  that  a  millionaire — a  member  of 
the  swell  set — should  have  done  such  a  thing,  made 
it  seem  worthy  of  columns  of  narration.  And  this 
was  only  in  the  "extras"  gotten  out  hurriedly.  What 
would  it  be  in  the  afternoon  papers,  and  the  dailies 
on  the  next  morning?  Harold  could  surmise,  for 
already  the  reporters  were  importuning  the  warden 
for  permission  to  interview  the  august  prisoner; 
were  asking  for  his  biography,  for  pictures  of  him- 
self, his  sister,  his  residence,  his  steam  yacht,  while 
the  artists'  staff  of  the  different  papers  were  ready 
with  pen  and  pencil  and  camera  to  draw  the  usual 
scenes  and  snap  the  usual  photographs,  which  would 
afterward  be  published  over  the  caption :  "Taken 
by  our  artist  on  the  spot." 


176       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

All  this  sensationalism  did  not  surprise  Harold, 
since  he  had  expected  and  foreseen  it;  but  what 
made  him  fairly  hold  his  breath  with  astonishment, 
as  he  read  paper  after  paper,  was  that  every  one, 
without  a  single  exception,  characterized  his  act  as 
that  of  an  insane  person. 

"We  can  draw  no  other  conclusion,"  were  the 
words  of  one  of  the  comments  on  the  occurrence, 
"than  that  Harold  Armytage  was  insane  at  the  mo- 
ment when  he  enabled  a  red-handed  murderer  to  go 
forth,  in  all  probability,  to  repeat  the  nefarious  crime 
for  which  he  had  been  justly  condemned  to  death. 
In  one  moment  of  mental  aberration  this  young 
heir  to  millions,  welcomed  home  after  a  tour  of  the 
world  by  his  immediate  family  and  by  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  world  of  finance,  commerce,  culture 
and  fashion,  has  recklessly  cast  to  the  winds  all 
prospects  of  occupying  the  high  station  in  life  to 
which  he  was  born,  and  has  opened  for  himself  the 
door  of  State's  prison  or  the  barred  portals  of  an 
insane  asylum." 

The  article  in  question  continued  in  the  same 
strain  for  half  a  column,  and  was  typical  of  all  those 
Harold  read, 


THE  DISCOVERY  177 

"So!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  with  a  deep 
indrawn  breath,  as  he  cast  the  last  paper  on  the 
floor,  "that  is  the  conclusion  they  arrive  at.  An  act 
of  simple  justice  from  one  man  to  his  fellow-man 
is  looked  upon  by  them  as  a  freak  of  madness !  For 
a  millionaire  to  aid  a  poor  man  is  rank  lunacy !  To 
let  a  poor  devil  escape  until  plans  can  be  matured 
to  save  his  life  from  the  electric  chair  is  to  ostra- 
cize oneself  from  respectable  society!  Out  upon 
such  respectability!  I  would  rather  be  disrepu- 
table!" 

He  had  risen  from  his  chair  and  was  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room  in  great  agitation. 

"I  may  have  made  a  mistake  in  judgment,"  he 
ejaculated,  "and  if  so  I  am  willing  to  serve  a  term 
in  prison  for  my  act.  But  it  was  prompted  by  the 
dictates  of  my  heart  and  conscience,  not  by  any 
vagaries  of  the  mind.  I  deny  that  I  am  insane,  and 
as  soon  as  my  counsel  comes  I  will  direct  him  to  at 
once  promulgate  that  fact  to  all  the  world." 

Hardly  had  he  uttered  the  words,  when  his  lawyer 
was  announced  and  entered  the  room.  Harold  at 
once  called  the  learned  counsel's  attention  to  what 
the  newspapers  said  about  his  mentality,  and,  in  an 


178       THE  HEART  OE  THE  PEOPLE 

eager  and  excited  manner  and  in  voluble  language, 
demanded  that  the  report  that  he  was  insane  be 
immediately  contradicted. 

His  lawyer  listened  to  him  quietly,  patiently,  as 
one  listens  to  a  querulous  child,  meanwhile  narrow- 
ly watching,  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  Harold's 
excitability  and  the  sparkle  in  his  eyes.  When  he 
had  concluded,  the  lawyer  dryly  said : 

"My  dear  boy,  you're  as  crazy  as  a  bed-bug!" 


ARRAIGNED  179 


CHAPTER  XV 

ARRAIGNED 

OO  you,  too,  join  in  the  general  chorus?"  bitterly 
^f  exclaimed  Harold.  "I  expected  more  of  you 
as  a  man  of  general  intelligence  and  one  whom  I 
believed  had  a  heart  in  its  proper  place." 

"I  am  first  of  all  your  lawyer,"  gravely  retorted 
Mr.  Carruthers,  the  head  of  the  eminent  firm  of 
Carruthers,  Bigsby  &  Carruthers,  whose  practice 
was  one  of  the  largest  in  the  city  and  mainly  con- 
fined to  big  corporations  and  wealthy  families.  "My 
own  personal  opinion  has  nothing  to  do  with  this 
case.  But,  by  Jove !  as  your  lawyer  I  will  proclaim 
from  the  house-tops  that  you  are  as  mad  as  a  March 
hare.  It  is  the  only  chance  I  see  to  save  you  from 
the  consequences  of  such  a  grave  infraction  of  the 
law." 

"But  if  I  do  not  wish  to  be  saved?"  persisted 


i8o       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Harold.  "If  I  am  willing  to  plead  guilty  and  go  to 
State's  prison?" 

"No  matter  what  you  wish,  I  have  a  duty  to  per- 
form, not  only  to  you,  but  to  your  sister,  whose 
heart  would  be  broken  to  see  her  brother  a  common 
felon;  I  have  to  shield  the  good  name  your  father 
left  to  you  untarnished — your  most  precious  inheri- 
tance. Do  you  think  now  that  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  plead  guilty?" 

"If  you  put  it  in  that  light "  began  the  young 

man  in  a  much  moved  voice. 

"Fortunately,"  continued  the  lawyer,  "the  very 
comments  in  the  public  press  to  which  you  object 
will  greatly  assist  me  in  the  line  of  defense  I  intend 
to  mark  out.  They  will  serve  to  mould  public  opin- 
ion, and  it  will  be  easier  for  us  to  procure  a  jury 
who  will  readily  acquit  you  on  the  ground  of  in- 
sanity." 

"And  then,  I  presume,"  bitterly  declared  Harold, 
"they  will  send  me,  a  perfectly  sane  man,  to  an  in- 
sane asylum  ?" 

The  lawyer  wagged  his  head  profoundly  and 
gave  his  client  a  sly  look.  "You  leave  that  part 
of  the  business  entirely  to  me,"  he  said.  "There  are 


ARRAIGNED  181 

things  in  our  profession  which  lawyers  do  not  feel 
called  upon  to  discuss,  even  with  their  own  clients. 
Good-by  for  the  present,  Mr.  Armytage.  Your  sis- 
ter has  informed  me  that  she  is  coming  to  see  you 
and  will  probably  be  here  in  a  few  moments.  I  am 
going  now  to  see  the  District  Attorney.  We  will 
arrange  for  you  to  be  brought  before  a  committing 
magistrate  this  afternoon.  You  will  waive  examina- 
tion and  be  put  under  bonds  to  await  the  action  of 
the  Grand  Jury.  You  will  then  be  free  to  go  where 
you  please  until  the  day  of  your  trial." 

He  shook  hands  with  his  client  and  left  the  room 
just  as  Gladys  and  Alicia  were  ushered  in  by  the 
warden's  obsequious  wife. 

Gladys'  meeting  with  her  brother  was  very  affect- 
ing. She  ran  into  his  arms  and,  pillowing  her 
head  on  his  breast,  burst  into  tears.  Alicia  remained 
in  the  background,  her  bosom  heaving  with  emotion 
and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Oh,  Harold!  Harold!"  sobbed  Gladys;  "why  did 
you  do  this  thing?" 

"Do  not  cry,  dear,"  soothingly  said  her  brother, 
as  he  fondly  stroked  her  golden  hair.  "My  lawyer, 
who  was  just  here,  assured  me  that  he  will  save  me 


182        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

from  a  prison  cell."  And  sotto  voce  he  added: 
"And  I  swear  I  will  never  be  placed  in  an  insane 
asylum." 

"But  why  did  you  change  places  with  the  pris- 
oner?" she  asked,  raising  her  tear-stained  face  to 
his.  "I  presume  your  noble  heart  dictated  your 
action;  but  was  there  no  less  hazardous  way  of  be- 
friending him  ?" 

"I  suppose,"  declared  he,  "I  could  have  let  him  go 
to  Sing  Sing  and  invoked  the  law's  delay  in  his  be- 
half, with  the  ultimate  result  of  having  the  death 
sentence  commuted  to  a  life  sentence  or  a  long 
term  in  prison.  But. the  injustice  of  it  all  struck  me 
so  forcibly.  You,  sister  mine,  and  I  were  partly 
at  least  responsible  for  the  chain  of  circumstances 
which  led  to  one  man's  death  and  another's  convic- 
tion for  murder.  How  this  was  so  it  would  take 
me  too  long  to  explain  to  you  now,  but  it  came  home 
to  me  so  vividly  that  I  instantly  began  to  think 
what  reparation  I  could  make,  for  your  sake  as  well 
as  mine.  It  was  impossible  to  restore  the  dead  to 
life,  but  it  was  possible  to  give  liberty  to  the  man 
whom  I  considered  unjustly  deprived  of  it.  The 
idea  of  substitution  came  to  me  like  a  flash.  I  did 


ARRAIGNED  183 

not  consider  its  rights  or  wrongs;  it  seemed  to  me 
like  an  inspiration  from  heaven,  and  I  acted  on  it. 
That  is  all  I  can  tell  you." 

"And,  oh,  Mr.  Armytage — Harold!"  exclaimed 
Alicia,  drawing  near  with  streaming  eyes,  "if  they 
should  send  you  to  State's  prison  for  it,  it  would 
break  your  sister's  heart — and — and  mine." 

"I  feel  deeply  grateful  to  you,  Alicia,"  he  said, 
warmly  pressing  her  hand,  "for  your  sympathy. 
Next  to  my  sister  I  know  no  woman  for  whom  I 
have  so  high  a  regard  as  for  you.  But  cheer  up, 
you  and  Gladys,  there  is  nothing  to  fear  on  that 
score.  Mr.  Carruthers  tells  me  that  I  cannot  be 
sent  to  prison,  because,  you  see,  I'm  crazy." 

"Crazy!"  ejaculated  both  girls  in  one  breath. 

"Well,"  explained  Harold,  with  a  smile,  "I  know 
I'm  not  and  he  knows  I'm  not,  but  it  will  do  as  a 
matter  of  defense.  And  now,  ladies,  permit  me  to 
suggest  that  you  both  go  home  and  be  as  cheerful 
as  you  can  under  the  circumstances.  I  promise  you 
to  be  home  in  time  to  take  dinner  with  you.  Mr. 
Carruthers  is  arranging  to  have  me  released  on  bail 
this  afternoon.  Meanwhile  I  will  take  a  much 
needed  nap  on  the  bed  there — you  see  what  comfort- 


184       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

able  quarters  they  have  provided  for  me.  I've  had 
no  sleep  now  for  over  twenty-four  hours." 

He  tenderly  embraced  and  kissed  his  sister  and 
shook  Alicia's  hand  so  warmly  as  to  send  her  away 
with  her  heart  beating  with  high  hopes. 

"He  says  that,  next  to  his  sister,  he  knows  no 
woman  for  whom  he  has  so  high  a  regard  as  for 
me,"  she  jubilantly  thought,  as,  with  Gladys,  she 
passed  out  of  the  Tombs  to  their  carriage  waiting 
at  the  curb.  "Guilty  or  not  guilty,  sane  or  insane, 
a  king  among  men  or  a  felon  in  a  convict's  cell, 
you  will  always  be  the  same  to  me — my  hero,  my 
god — for  I  love  you — I  love  you !" 

The  ladies  having  left,  Harold  stretched  himself 
out  on  the  couch  and  slept  as  soundlessly  and  as 
peacefully  as  a  child  until  the  morning  had  passed 
and  half  of  the  afternoon  had  waned.  Then  he  was 
wakened  by  the  warden,  who  informed  him  that  he 
was  to  be  taken  to  court.  He  sprang  from  the  bed, 
made  a  hasty  toilet,  and,  having  donned  his  coat  and 
hat,  expressed  his  readiness  to  follow  whither  he 
was  led. 

"It's  lucky  for  you,  sir,"  said  the  warden,  "that 
the  police  court  is  in  the  building,  or  it  would  have 


ARRAIGNED  185 

been  a  ride  in  the  Black  Maria  for  yours,  with  these 
dangling  at  your  wrists." 

He  held  up  a  pair  of  handcuffs  as  he  spoke. 

Harold  could  not  restrain  a  shiver  of  repugnance. 
This  was  bringing  home  to  him  the  knowledge  that 
he  was,  after  all,  a  prisoner,  in  a  way  which  grated 
on  his  nerves. 

"But  you  know  I  will  make  no  attempt  to  escape," 
he  said.  "Why  would  it  be  necessary  to  heap  these 
indignities  on  me?" 

"It  isn't  necessary  in  this  case,"  replied  the 
warden,  "because  you're  not  going  out  of  the  build- 
ing. I'm  only  telling  you  what  would  have  hap- 
pened if  you  were.  You  see,"  he  somewhat  apolo- 
getically added,  "the  afternoon  papers  have  got  on 
to  the  special  privileges  allowed  you,  and  they're 
pounding  the  sheriff  and  me  to  beat  the  band.  And 
the  Recorder,  too — what  a  roasting  he's  getting  for 
writing  that  letter !  But  I'm  glad  of  that." 

"And  I'm  sorry,"  declared  Harold.  "The  poor 
man  couldn't  imagine  what  use  I  would  make  of  it, 
no  more  than  I  imagined  it  myself." 

"Well,  next  time  he'll  know  better,"  grimly  com- 


186       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

mented  the  warden,  as  he  opened  the  door  for 
Harold  to  pass  out. 

The  prisoner,  for  that  he  virtually  was,  on  step- 
ping into  the  corridor  found  himself  confronted  by 
two  policemen,  in  full  uniform  and  with  drawn  clubs. 
The  latter  ranged  themselves  in  front  of  the  warden, 
who  stepped  to  Harold's  side,  and  thus  the  proces- 
sion moved  on  to  the  lower  floor,  on  which  the  police 
court  was  situated.  It  had  to  pass  for  a  short  dis- 
tance through  the  lobby  of  the  Tombs  to  reach  the 
door  leading  to  the  prisoners'  pen,  in  which  the  ac- 
cused were  confined  until  their  cases  were  called  in 
court.  Harold's  face  flushed  as  he  observed  in  the 

• 

crowd  which  had  gathered  there  a  number  of 
photographers,  who  "snapped"  the  view  before  they 
could  be  driven  away  by  the  police,  which  view  was 
published  in  next  day's  papers  with  a  highly  inter- 
esting account  of  how  the  millionaire  prisoner  was 
taken  to  court  by  two  policemen  and  the  warden  of 
the  Tombs. 

He  was  led  into  the  pen — a  low-ceilinged  room 
with  narrow,  grated  windows — hot,  stuffy,  ill-smell- 
ing, and  so  dimly  illuminated  from  without  that 
already  the  gas-jets  were  lighted.  On  long  benches 


ARRAIGNED  187 

sat  a  motley  group  of  prisoners,  waiting  to  be  ar- 
raigned. Two  of  the  benches  were  reserved  for  the 
"ladies,"  a  sodden,  frowzy-looking  group,  slattern- 
ly attired,  with  unwashed  faces  and  unkempt  hair, 
arrested  for  the  most  part  on  the  charge  of  being 
drunk  and  disorderly.  On  the  men's  benches  were 
a  much  tougher  crowd,  men  who  had  already  served 
terms  in  prison  for  burglary  or  assault,  and  had  been 
again  caught  in  similar  crimes;  pickpockets  and 
thieves,  some  gentlemanly-looking  forgers  and  con- 
fidence men — these  were  to  be  Harold  Armytage's 
companions  for  the  time  being. 

A  look  of  disgust  came  over  him  as  one  of  the 
police  gruffly  ordered  the  prisoners  to  crowd  more 
closely  together  so  as  to  make  room  for  him  to  sit 
on  one  of  the  benches.  He  was  about  to  beg  the 
privilege  of  standing  when  he  noticed  that  the  Sog- 
garth  Aroon  was  present  in  the  pen.  The  good 
father  was  going  from  prisoner  to  prisoner,  giving 
each  a  word  of  consolation,  friendly  advice,  or  a 
paternal  admonition.  Perhaps  the  good  priest  was 
aware  that  Harold  would  be  brought  to  the  pen  that 
afternoon,  and  had  sought  and  obtained  the  per- 
mission to  visit  and  console  the  prisoners  in  order 


1 88   THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

to  be  near  him  during  this  ordeal.  He  advanced  to- 
ward him,  holding  out  both  his  hands,  which  Harold 
clasped. 

"Ah,  my  son,"  he  said,  with  the  sweet  smile  which 
gave  a  sort  of  angelic  look  to  his  countenance,  "I 
fear  that  you  took  my  little  homily  too  practically, 
or  you  would  not  be  here  now.  But,  believe  me, 
your  act  was  done  in  God's  providence,  who  will 
overrule  it  for  the  comfort  of  your  soul  and  the 
salvation  of  mankind." 

"Then  you  do  not  believe  what  the  papers  say," 
rejoined  Harold — "that  it  was  the  crazy  freak  of 
a  lunatic  ?" 

"Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  look  upon  it  in  that 
light,  though  if  you  had  taken  me  into  your  confi- 
dence I  would  have  been  in  duty  bound  to  have  dis- 
suaded you — or  at  least,"  he  added,  with  a  sly  twin- 
kle in  his  good-natured  eyes,  "to  have  tried  to  dis- 
suade you." 

"And  now,"  said  Harold,  "I  am  in  the  eyes  of 
the  law  a  criminal,  no  better  than  these  wretches 
here."  He  could  not  forbear  a  shiver  of  repulsion 
as  he  pointed  at  the  men  and  women  on  the  benches. 

"We  are  none  of  us  very  much  better  or  very 


ARRAIGNED  189 

much  worse  than  our  fellow-beings,"  replied  the 
Soggarth  Aroon.  "These,  too,  Harold,  are  your 
brothers  and  sisters.  What  temptations  lay  in  their 
path,  what  struggles  they  made  before  they  finally 
succumbed,  we  do  not  know.  But  we  do  know  that 
there  is  some  kernel  of  good  in  every  one's  nature, 
and  it  behooves  us  to  seek  it  out  and  to  nurture  and 
cultivate  it  until  it  sprouts  and  grows  into  a  goodly 
tree.  Come  and  help  me  say  a  good  word  to  these, 
my  soul-sick  patients,  as  I  call  them." 

It  was  a  lesson  in  practical  philanthropy,  and  as, 
with  the  priest,  Harold  passed  from  bench  to  bench 
and  saw  how  the  drooped  forms  straightened  up  and 
the  sullen  look  of  despair  was  replaced  by  one  of 
hope  or  mild  resignation,  his  feeling  of  disgust  and 
aversion  gave  way  to  an  almost  holy  resolve  to 
consecrate  his  life  to  the  alleviation  of  the  lot  of 
those  confined  in  jails. 

"Harold  Armytage  to  the  bar !"  shouted  the  court- 
crier  at  this  juncture,  and  the  cry  was  repeated  at 
the  door  leading  from  the  pen  into  the  courtroom. 
Escorted  by  a  policeman  and  the  Soggarth  Aroon, 
Harold  passed  into  the  dingy  courtroom,  which  was 
densely  crowded  by  morbid  curiosity-seekers,  who 


190       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

had  come  to  see  the  millionaire  prisoner  arraigned. 
He  gave  one  look  about  the  room  and  breathed  a  sigh 
of  relief  when  he  noticed  that  neither  Gladys  nor 
Alicia  was  present.  They  had  taken  the  lawyer's 
advice  to  remain  away  and  save  themselves  any 
further  heart-pangs. 

At  the  bar  Harold  met  Mr.  Carruthers,  and  a 
representative  from  the  District  Attorney's  office 
was  present  on  behalf  of  the  people.  The  magis- 
trate was  on  the  bench  and  at  once  took  up  the 
formalities,  which  were  very  brief  indeed.  A  short 
affidavit,  made  by  the  keeper,  detailing  the  escape, 
was  read  and  Harold  was  formally  charged  with 
aiding  and  abetting  a  prisoner  to  escape  from  the 
city  prison.  On  advice  of  counsel  he  made  no  plea 
in  defense  and  waived  examination.  There  was  then 
a  spirited  controversy  between  the  Assistant  Dis- 
trict Attorney  and  the  defendant's  counsel  as  to  the 
amount  of  bail  to  be  given,  the  prosecution,  in  view 
of  the  enormity  of  the  offense,  demanding  very  heavy 
bail,  while  the  defense,  assuring  the  court  that  the 
prisoner  had  no  intention  of  running  away,  thought 
nominal  bail  would  be  sufficient. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars,   to  await  the  action  of 


ARRAIGNED  191 

the  Grand  Jury,"  tersely  decided  the  justice.  Mr. 
Silas  Chubb,  who  had  been  notified  by  Mr.  Carruth- 
ers  to  be  present,  now  popped  up  from  his  seat  in 
one  of  the  back  benches  and  offered  himself  as 
bondsman.  He  was  naturally  accepted,  and  ten 
minutes  later  Harold  passed  out  of  the  courtroom 
temporarily  a  free  man. 

He  found  the  family  coach  awaiting  him  at  the 
curb.  He  was  about  to  enter  it,  when  a  burly  negro 
ran  up  and  obsequiously  held  open  the  door  of  the 
vehicle  for  him.  As  Harold  put  his  foot  on  the 
carriage  steps,  the  negro  bent  forward  his  head  and 
eagerly  whispered: 

"I'm  Jack  McQuillan,  boss,  an'  yer  slave  fur  life. 
Wakin'  or  sleepin',  I'll  be  allus  near  yer  ter  protec' 
yer  with  all  me  power  an'  all  me  strengt' !" 


192        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ON    THE    BRINK    OF    A    PROPOSAL 

"\  X  7  HEN  Harold  reached  home  he  found  quite  a 

*  *  company  gathered  to  welcome  him.  Gladys 
had  been  assured  by  Mr.  Carruthers  that  there  was 
no  doubt  of  her  brother's  release  under  bail,  and 
she  had  sent. out  a  hurry  notice  for  a  five-o'clock 
tea,  to  which  there  had  been  a  generous  response. 

"Here  comes  our  wild-eyed  maniac,"  was  the 
salute  with  which  he  was  greeted,  as,  in  company 
with  Silas  Chubb,  he  entered  the  drawing-room. 

"Surely,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  replied,  "you 
do  not  believe  the  nonsense  published  in  the  papers  ?" 

"Nonsense  or  not,"  grimly  declared  Silas  Chubb, 
"you  are  either  an  anarchist  or  a  lunatic.  We 
choose  to  consider  you  the  latter,  for  what  would 
become  of  the  bulwarks  of  society,  the  very  founda- 


ON  THE  BRINK  OF  A  PROPOSAL    193 

tion  stones  on  which  it  rests,  if  one  who  should  be  its 
mainstay  and  its  brightest  flower  should  act  in  his 
sober  senses  as  you  have  done?" 

This  noble  sentiment  was  generally  applauded, 
and  then  Mr.  Chubb  tersely  added : 

"My  own  opinion  is  that  you  are  a  little  of  both." 

"Anarchist  or  not,  insane  or  sane,"  hotly  re- 
torted Harold,  "I  stand  by  my  action  and  am  pre- 
pared to  take  the  consequences." 

The  conversation  then  became  general,  while,  be- 
tween the  drinking  of  tea  and  the  eating  of  cake, 
the  men  and  women  present  shook  hands  with 
Harold  and  personally  assured  him  of  their  sym- 
pathy. Among  those  who  thus  paid  their  respects 
to  him  was  the  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere. 

"You  acted  like  a  preux  chevalier,"  he  said.  "In 
France  you  would  have  been  acclaimed  the  hero 
of  the  people,  and  they  would  have  borne  you 
through  the  streets  of  Paris  with  your  head  crowned 
with  laurels.  My  ancestor,  the  Marechal,  in  much 
the  same  way  rescued  a  political  prisoner  from  the 
Bastile.  He  received  a  triumphal  procession,  and, 
his  act  causing  a  change  of  government,  he  was 
awarded  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor." 


194       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"They  do  things  differently  in  France,"  smiled 
Harold. 

"Ah,  yes,  in  many  things,"  admitted  the  Marquis 
with  a  sigh  and  a  characteristic  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders. "For  instance,  there  is  Mademoiselle  Gladys, 
so  beautiful,  so  good  of  heart;  she  is  constantly 
surrounded  by  a  group  of  admirers,  each  hoping  to 
be  the  man  who  will  be  made  happy  by  her  choice. 
And  not  one  of  them  has  the  slightest  regard  for 
you  as  the  head  of  the  family;  not  one,  I  dare  say, 
has  come  to  you  and  respectfully  asked  permission 
to  pay  his  respects  to  mademoiselle,  your  sister." 

"Oh,  in  America,"  laughingly  replied  Harold, 
"that  sort  of  thing  doesn't  count  for  much,  not  even 
in  the  eyes  of  the  young  lady  concerned.  She  cares 
very  little  if  the  suitor  has  the  permission  of  her 
parents  or  guardians ;  she  does  care  a  great  deal  how 
the  ardent  swain  impresses  her.  If  he  gains  her 
heart,  she  knows  well  enough  she  can  obtain  the 
permission  of  her  family,  for,  as  a  rule,  her  will  is 
law  and  all  bow  to  her  slightest  behest.  That  is 
a  characteristic  of  the  American  girl,  you  know, 
Marquis." 

"The  American  girl  is  all  the  more  enchanting," 


ON  THE  BRINK  OF  A  PROPOSAL    195 

he  returned  with  a  gallant  bow,  "on  account  of  the 
independence  of  her  spirit." 

Harold  gave  the  Frenchman  a  keen  look,  and, 
with  a  smile,  added:  "Am  I  right  in  assuming, 
Marquis,  that  you  are  delicately  insinuating  that 
you  would  like  to  have  my  permission  to  pay  your 
addresses  to  my  sister?" 

The  nobleman  gave  a  bow  almost  to  the  ground. 

"If  you  will  so  honor  me,"  he  murmured. 

"Well,  you  may  have  it  for  what  it's  worth," 
laughed  Harold.  "And  that  isn't  much,  I  assure 
you,  in  the  eyes  of  a  girl  like  Gladys." 

The  Marquis  passed  along,  satisfied  that  he  had 
accomplished  the  purpose  of  his  chat  with  his  host, 
and  was  soon  thereafter  engaged  in  an  animated 
conversation  with  Miss  Armytage. 

Mrs.  Van  Courtlandt  DePeyster  took  his  place. 

"I  am  announcing  a  freak  party  for  next  Wednes- 
day at  my  house,  Harold,"  she  said  in  her  usual 
bumptious  manner,  "and  I  shall  exhibit  you  as  the 
greatest  as  well  as  the  latest  society  freak." 

"So  that's  what  I  have  become,  is  it?"  asked 
Harold,  always  ready  to  humor  that  lady's  lively 
whims. 


196        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"We  have  always  a  collection  of  freaks  on  hand," 
she  continued,  "but  never  have  we  had  one  like  you. 
There's  the  man,  for  instance,  with  a  hundred  thou- 
sand dollar  income  who  goes  in  for  vegetarianism 
and  never  spends  more  than  twenty  cents  for  what 
he  calls  a  square  meal ;  there's  the  woman  who  main- 
tains out  of  her  own  purse  a  hospital  for  cats  and 
dogs,  but  who  is  deaf  as  a  post  when  she  is  called 
upon  for  a  contribution  for  a  children's  home; 
there's  Mr.  So-and-so,  who  gives  monkey  dinners, 
and  Miss  You-know-who,  who,  at  her  receptions, 
has  all  her  guests  appear  dressed  like  babes  in  swad- 
dling clothes.  Oh,  I  have  them  on  my  list.  I  will 
invite  them  all.  It  will  be  too  funny  for  anything. 
But,  as  I  have  said,  you  will  be  the  greatest  freak." 
"And,  pray,  how  do  you  make  that  out?" 
"Honest,  now,  don't  you  know  you  are?  Here 
you  are,  a  millionaire,  with  a  steam  yacht,  fine 
stable  of  blooded  horses,  a  residence  on  the  Avenue 
and  a  country  place  at  Tuxedo,  a  leader  in  fashion- 
able circles  and  one  who  should  be  a  shining  light 
in  society,  upsetting  every  preconceived  notion  of 
what  a  gentleman  in  your  station  should  be  and 
do  by  befriending,  at  the  risk  of  your  own  liberty, 


ON  THE  BRINK  OF  A  PROPOSAL     197 

one  of  a  class  which  in  our  eyes  does  not  at 
all  exist.  What  else  can  persons  think  and  say  but 
that  you  are  a  freak?  The  next  thing  we'll  hear  is 
that  you  are  distributing  your  wealth  among  the 
poor,  and  making  yourself  penniless." 

"And  if  I  really  should  make  such  use  of  what 
is  my  own,  what  then  ?" 

"Then  my  parlors  could  not  accommodate  all 
who  would  want  to  gaze  upon  the  wonder  of  the 
age.  I  should  have  to  hire  Madison  Square  Garden 
to  exhibit  you.  Don't  forget,"  she  added,  with  a 
loud  laugh,  and  tapping  him  on  the  arm  with  her 
fan,  "next  Wednesday  evening,  at  my  house,  Mr. 
Freak!" 

In  this  desultory  way  the  conversation  went  on 
for  an  hour,  and  then  the  company  dispersed,  until 
Harold  found  himself  alone  in  the  drawing-room 
with  Alicia.  Whether  this  was  accidental  or  by 
design  on  the  part  of  the  latter  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  say.  But  the  fact  was  that  all  the  guests 
had  gone  home  and  Gladys  had  repaired  to  her  own 
room,  and  that  it  was  the  gloaming,  the  mystic  hour 
before  the  evening  lights  are  lit,  when  vague  shad- 


198       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

ows  rest  everywhere,  and  the  very  air  seems  to 
breathe  out  love  and  romance. 

Alicia  had  sunk  on  a  low,  silken  divan,  the  tint 
of  its  covering  exquisitely  matching  her  rich,  sen- 
suous beauty.  Her  gown,  slightly  raised  in  front, 
exposed  a  foot  that  could  have  worn  Cinderella's 
slipper,  and  through  the  filmy  meshes  of  her  lace 
gown  her  bosom  could  be  seen  to  rise  and  fall  with 
the  emotions  surging  in  her  heart.  She  reclined 
there  on  the  divan,  covertly  watching  Harold,  in  the 
semi-dusk  of  the  room,  out  of  her  eyes  half  closed 
by  her  long,  dark  lashes. 

He  would  have  been  less  than  a  man  had  he  not 
felt  his  senses  \hrill  and  the  blood  course  more  rapid- 
ly through  his  veins  at  the  sight  of  such  exquisite 
female  loveliness.  He  approached  the  divan,  and, 
at  a  slight  intimation  from  her,  seated  himself  at 
her  side.  He  took  her  hand,  which  she  allowed  to 
remain  passively  in  his. 

"Alicia,"  he  said,  raising  her  hand  to  his  lips  and 
pressing  a  kiss  on  it,  "I  am  glad  we  are  alone.  I 
wish  to  assure  you  what  comfort  your  visit  was 
to  me  in  the  Tombs  this  morning.  Whatever  trials 
I  would  have  to  undergo,  I  felt  that  I  could  sus- 


ON  THE  BRINK  OF  A  PROPOSAL    199 

tain  them,  upheld  by  Gladys'  sisterly  love  and  your 
friendship." 

She  slightly  shivered  at  that  last  word.  It  sound- 
ed so  cold  in  her  ears. 

"Friendship  will  do  much,  Harold,"  she  mur- 
mured, faintly  pressing  his  hand,  "but  devotion 
more.  We  have  grown  up  from  childhood  together ; 
we  were  chums  and  playfellows  until  the  wide  ocean 
rolled  between  us.  Other  scenes  and  other  women 
may  have  come  between  you  and  your  boyhood  com- 
panion, but  absence  only  served  to  strengthen  the 
devotion  I  always  had  for  you,  which  is  part  of  my 
life.  Your  joys  will  always  be  my  joys,  if  you 
will  permit  me  to  share  them — your  sorrows  will 
always  make  my  heart  bleed." 

These  were  very  dangerous  words  for  a  young 
and  very  beautiful  girl  to  utter  to  a  man  even  less 
impressionable  than  Harold  was.  Perhaps  she  used 
them  intentionally  to  fire  his  heart.  Almost  invol- 
untarily he  moved  more  closely  to  her,  and  thoughts 
of  her  as  his  wife  flitted  through  his  brain.  It 
would  be  perhaps  saying  too  much  to  state  that  a 
proposal  fluttered  on  his  lips,  but  his  next  words 
would  have  been  those  of  a  lover  had  not  the 


tete-a-tete  just  then  been  broken  up  by  the  entrance 
of  a  footman,  who  came  to  light  the  gas-jets  and  to 
announce  that  a  young  lady  desired  to  see  him. 

Alicia  angrily  sprang  to  her  feet.  Farewell,  for 
the  present  at  least,  to  the  gloaming  and  the  love 
and  romance!  They  vanished  as  the  lights  were 
turned  on  and  a  brilliant  illumination  flooded  the 
drawing-room. 

The  footman  handed  Harold  a  dainty  card,  on 
which  was  inscribed  a  single  name. 

"Agnes  Merrihew,"  he  read.  "I  do  not  recog- 
nize the  name,"  he  added.  "Is  she  somebody  whom 
Gladys  knows?" 

"I  believe  not,"  frigidly  replied  Alicia.  "I  never 
heard  the  name  before."  Already  in  her  heart  she 
began  to  hate  the  person,  whoever  it  was,  who  had 
come  between  her  and,  as  she  believed,  the  proposal 
she  longed  to  hear. 

"Are  you  sure  the  lady  asked  to  see  me  ?"  Harold 
inquired  of  the  footman. 

"Yes,  sir ;  she  begged  me  to  say  that  she  came  in 
behalf  of  the  sister  of  the  man " 

"A   messenger  from  Jack   McQuillan's  sister," 


ON  THE  BRINK  OF  A  PROPOSAL    201 

interrupted  Harold  eagerly.    "I  shall  be  glad  to  see 
her.    Show  her  up  at  once." 

The  footman  departed  on  his  errand. 

"As  you  are  about  to  receive  some  person  on  the 
part  of  a  murderer's  sister,"  said  Alicia,  with  a 
scarcely  concealed  sneer,  "you  will  permit  me  to 
take  my  leave." 

"As  you  please,"  he  rather  curtly  replied,  "though 
I  had  hoped  you  would  have  been  interested  enough 
to  remain  and  listen  to  our  conversation.  I  prom- 
ised the  man  to  take  care  of  his  sister  Maggie,  and 
I  was  wondering  where  I  could  find  her.  I  shall 
know  now." 

Alicia  knew  by  the  tone  of  his  voice  that  she  had 
made  a  mistake,  and  hastened  to  recover  the  lost 
ground. 

"Oh,  I  am  interested  in  anything  that  interests 
you,  Harold,"  she  purred,  "only  I  felt  a  little  vexed 
that  our  pleasant  tete-a-tete  should  be  interrupted  by 
a  visitor,  who  might  have  come  at  a  more  oppor- 
tune moment." 

"Any  moment  is  opportune  that  brings  me  the 
information  I  desire,"  he  replied,  but  partly  molli- 
fied. "Still,  I  think,  after  all,  that  it  is  best  for  you 


202        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

to  withdraw.  Miss  Merrihew  might  be  embarrassed 
at  the  presence  of  a  third  person." 

"How  considerate  of  the  feelings  of  a  perfect 
stranger,"  thought  Alicia,  inwardly  raging;  but  she 
was  careful  not  to  give  expression  to  her  thoughts. 

"As  you  please,"  she  said  aloud.  "Only,  I  hope 
you  will  get  the  information  you  want  and  that  you 
will  not  be  detained  by  the  interview  beyond  the 
dinner  hour." 

She  made  him  a  curtsy  and  went  toward  the 
door  leading  to  Gladys'  rooms,  just  as  Agnes  timidly 
advanced  into  the  room.  The  angel  of  the  slums 
did  not  see,  the  magnificently  robed  and  gorgeously 
bejeweled  woman  who  paused  at  the  door  to  cast 
a  look  at  her  which  took  in,  at  a  glance,  her  neat, 
if  plain,  attire,  her  lithe,  well-proportioned  figure 
and  the  classic  beauty  of  her  face.  Alicia  had  ex- 
pected to  see  some  frowzy,  ill-dressed  individual  of 
the  lower  classes,  and  she  gave  a  great  start  of  sur- 
prise when  she  now  recognized  her  to  have  been  a 
schoolmate,  if  not  a  classmate,  of  Gladys  and  her- 
self at  the  fashionable  ladies'  seminary.  She  had 
entirely  forgotten  her  name,  but  she  now  remem- 
bered the  face  of  one  who  had  not  only  been  a  re- 


ON  THE  BRINK  OF  A  PROPOSAL    203 

markably  bright  scholar,  but  also  the  daughter  of 
a  man  popularly  supposed  to  be  rolling  in  wealth. 

"I  don't  understand  it  at  all,"  she  muttered  as  she 
passed  out  of  the  room,  "how  she  comes  to  be  dressed 
in  such  cheap  clothes,  and  to  come  on  an  errand  like 
this.  But  this  I  do  know,  or  rather  feel — that  I  hate 
you,  Agnes  Merrihew,  and  will  hate  you  as  long  as 
I  live." 


204        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  VISIT  TO  THE  HOME 

TTAROLD  advanced  to  meet  Agnes,  and, 
*  *•  like  Alicia,  was  struck  with  the  neatness  of 
her  attire  and  her  lady-like  demeanor. 

"You  are  welcome,  Miss  Merrihew,"  he  said,  ex- 
tending his  hand  in  greeting,  "and  doubly  welcome 
in  bringing  me  a  message  from  a  young  girl  for 
whom  I  promised  to  care." 

"You  are  kind  indeed  to  say  so,  Mr.  Armytage," 
she  replied,  in  a  voice  whose  gentle  sweetness  struck 
his  ear  like  the  chords  of  some  favorite  melody. 
"But  I  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  I  would  be 
otherwise  than  well  received  by  one  who  has  so 
signally  shown  that  his  heart  beats  for  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  poor  and  lowly." 

Harold  bowed  his  acknowledgments  to  this  com- 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  HOME  205 

pliment,  and  thought  that  the  speaker  had  a  very 
charming  way  of  expressing  herself. 

"Besides,"  continued  Agnes,  "I  had  a  dear  friend 
and  companion  in  my  schoolhood  days — and  you 
are  her  brother." 

"What!"  ejaculated  the  young  man  in  surprise; 
"you  know  Gladys?" 

"We  were  at  the  seminary  together,  though  she 
was  in  a  grade  above  mine." 

"Pardon  me  for  not  offering  you  a  seat  sooner," 
he  said,  bringing  forward  a  chair.  She  seated  her- 
self, while  Harold  paced  the  room  in  a  thoughtful 
mood. 

"Strange!"  he  said,  pausing  before  her;  "if  you 
were  in  the  same  school  with  my  sister,  you  must 
also  be  acquainted  with  Miss  Chubb — Miss  Alicia 
Chubb." 

Agnes  nodded  her  head  in  assent. 

"She  was  just  here  a  moment  ago  when  your 
card  was  brought  up,  and,  in  answer  to  my  inquiry, 
said  she  had  never  heard  of  your  name  in  her  life." 

A  momentary  flush  passed  over  the  young  girl's 
cheeks. 

"She  was  older  than  Miss  Armytage  and  I,"  she 


206        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

then  said,  "and  left  the  seminary  before  we  did. 
I  never  was  on  very  friendly  terms  with  her,  and 
she  may  have  forgotten  that  such  a  person  as  I  ever 
existed,  or" — with  a  deprecating  glance  at  her  sim- 
ple attire — "she  may  not  choose  to  remember  me." 

It  was  strange  how  rapidly  Alicia  sank  in  Harold's 
esteem  as  he  heard  these  words,  and  how,  in  the 
same  proportion,  Agnes  rose.  He  could  not  account 
for  it  himself  when  he  afterwards  thought  about 
it. 

"Would  you  mind  my  sending  for  Gladys?"  he 
asked.  "I  am  sure  she  would  like  to  greet  her 
former  schoolmate,  and  to  listen  to  what  you  have  to 
tell  me,  provided  it  must  not  remain  a  secret  be- 
tween us  two." 

"Oh,  no;  Miss  Armytage  is  welcome  to  hear 
all  I  have  to  say,  and  I  should  dearly  love  to  see 
her  and  speak  to  her  again." 

Harold  summoned  the  footman  and  directed  him 
to  ask  Miss  Armytage  to  step  into  the  drawing-room. 
A  few  moments  later  Gladys  appeared,  and,  at  sight 
of  Agnes,  impulsively  rushed  toward  her  with  out- 
stretched arms.  The  latter  had  arisen  at  her  en- 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  HOME  207 

trance,  and  the  two  girls  fondly  embraced  and  kissed 
each  other. 

"Why,  Agnes  Merrihew,  as  I  live!"  exclaimed 
Gladys,  holding  her  off  at  arm's  length  to  have  a 
good  look  at  her,  and  then  embracing  her  again. 
"Alicia  told  me  that  you  had  some  lady  visitor, 
Harold,  but  mentioned  no  name.  If  I  had  known 
it  was  my  old  schoolmate  I  should  not  have  waited 
to  be  summoned." 

"Ah,"  murmured  Agnes,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
"you  were  always  so  good  and  kind  to  me." 

"Well!  well!"  replied  Gladys,  as  she  drew  the 
young  girl  over  to  the  divan  and  sat  down  with 
her ;  "so  we  meet  again  after  years  of  separation.  I 
was  wondering  what  had  become  of  you.  I  had 
left  school,  you  know,  when  I  read  of  your  father's 
loss  of  fortune  and  his  sad  death,  which  must  have 
put  an  end  to  all  your  hopes  of  a  bright  future.  Do 
you  know,  Harold,"  she  added  in  a  lively  manner, 
"in  Miss  Merrihew  you  behold  a  product  of  the 
Golden  West?  She  is  a  Colorado  girl,  can  ride  like 
an  Amazon,  throw  a  lariat  like  a  cowboy,  and  shoot 
like  an  Indian  scout." 

"Please,  don't !"  murmured  Agnes,  her  face  crim- 


208       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

soned  with  blushes,  which  Harold  thought  very  be- 
coming to  her. 

"And  do  you  still  write  poetry?"  asked  Gladys, 
who  seemed  bent  on  exhibiting  all  her  friend's  ac- 
complishments to  her  brother.  "She's  a  poet,  too, 
you  must  know,  Harold,  and  she  did  me  the  honor 
to  let  me  read  the  first  verses  she  ever  wrote.  Every 
once  in  a  while  I  come  across  a  poem  in  a  maga- 
zine or  paper  simply  signed  'Agnes.'  I  often  won- 
dered whether  that  meant  you.  Now  I  am  sure  of 
it" 

"Please,  Gladys!"  helplessly  protested  the  young 
girl. 

"I'm  Sure  it  is  doubly  an  honor,"  gallantly  de- 
clared Harold,  "to  be  made  acquainted  with  a  friend 
of  my  sister,  and  one  who  has  so  many  talents  of 
her  own." 

"But  why  are  your  verses  all  so  sad,  nowadays, 
Agnes?"  asked  Gladys.  "Those  that  I  have  read 
are  all  about  what  you  term  the  'common  people' 
and  depict  their  trials  and  sufferings.  I  remember 
one  in  particular  that  struck  me  quite  forcibly.  It 
was  entitled  The  Heart  of  the  People.'  The  open- 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  HOME  209 

ing  stanza,  as  near  as  I  can  recollect  it,  reads  like 
this: 


"  The  heart  of  the  people  beats  fondly  and  true, 
The  heart  of  the  people,  which  means  me  and  you; 
Oh,  let  not  that  heart  be  broken  in  twain, 
Oh,  give  it  just  cause  to  be  joyful  again.' ' 

"Bravo !"  cried  Harold,  clapping  his  hands.  "Miss 
Merrihew,  you  must  promise  me  right  now  to  give 
me  a  copy  of  the  complete  poem.  I  really  want  to 
read  it.  I  feel  that  it  will  give  me  an  inspiration 
in  the  line  of  conduct  I  have  marked  out  for  my 
future." 

"If  it  should,"  fervently  exclaimed  Agnes,  "the 
thought  that  I  had  written  it  would  make  me  feel  so 
happy.  You  ask  me,  Gladys — you  will  permit  me  to 
call  you  Gladys,  will  you  not? — why  I  write  in  such 
a  sad  strain.  If  you  could  see  what  I  see  every  day 
of  the  undeserved  wretchedness  of  the  poor,  if  you 
could  hear  the  pitiful  stories  of  want  that  are  poured 
into  my  ears,  and  if  you  would  come  to  reflect  that 
most  if  not  all  of  this  suffering  is  needlessly  imposed 
on  the  poor  by  the  greed  and  heartlessness  of  the 


rich,  you,  too,  would  feel  your  heart  stirred  to  utter 
a  cry  for  help  for  the  helpless,  and  of  denunciation 
for  their  oppressors." 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet  as  she  spoke,  and  two 
hectic  spots  gleamed  on  her  cheeks,  while  her  eyes 
flashed.  She  seemed  like  one  transformed — like  a 
militant  angel — Harold  thought  as  he  wonderingly 
gazed  at  her — ready  to  do  battle  in  behalf  of  her 
wards. 

"And  this  brings  me  to  the  object  of  my  visit," 
added  Agnes  in  milder  tones.  "I  am  connected  with 
the  rescue  home  for  young  girls  on  Water  Street. 
Last  night  I  brought  Maggie  McQuillan  there.  She, 
like  all  of  us,  has  read  of  your  act  of  heroic  sacri- 
fice for  her  brother's  sake,  and  she  would  like  to 
thank  you  on  her  bended  knees  and  to  kiss  your 
hand.  Will  you  come  with  me  and  afford  her  this 
gratification,  and  also  assure  her,  if  you  can,  of 
her  brother's  safety?" 

"I  will  go  with  the  greatest  of  pleasure,"  replied 
Harold,  "and  go  at  once  if  Gladys  can  spare  me 
during  the  dinner  hour." 

"I  guess  we  can  manage  to  eat  the  meal  without 
you,"  declared  his  sister;  "only,  you  must  promise 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  HOME  211 

me  not  to  get  into  any  more  scrapes  like  you  did 
last  night.  However  nobly  you  may  act,  we  cannot 
be  bailing  you  out  of  jail  the  whole  time." 

"I  promise  to  keep  out  of  mischief,  sister  mine," 
he  laughingly  rejoined,  as  he  put  his  arm  around 
her  waist  and  fondly  kissed  her. 

"On  that  promise  I  will  let  you  go,  and  I  charge 
you,  Agnes,  with  his  safe  keeping,"  she  said,  with 
mock  solemnity.  "And,  Agnes,  dear,  now  that  we 
have  met  again,  you  must  come  to  see  me  often.  I 
would  ask  you  even  to  take  up  your  home  with  us, 
only  I  suppose  your  heart  is  in  your  work  and  you 
wish  to  be  near  your  charges.  But  come  and  see 
me  as  frequently  as  you  can  and  tell  me  all  about 
the  good  work  you  are  doing.  You  will  find  me  an 
eager  and  sympathetic  listener." 

She  gave  her  another  squeeze  and  a  kiss  and  es- 
corted her  and  Harold  to  the  front  door,  waving  her 
hand  to  them  as  they  descended  to  the  sidewalk. 

From  an  upper  window  in  the  house,  in  the  light 
cast  by  a  street-lamp,  Alicia  saw  the  two  depart. 

"She  came  to  fetch  him  somewhere,"  she  mut- 
tered, "and  there  they  go.  He  is  offering  her  his 
arm  as  if  they  were  old  acquaintances,  and  they 


212        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

are  chatting  as  if  they  were  on  the  most  familiar 
terms.  If  I  thought — but,  bah !  have  I  so  little  con- 
fidence in  my  own  powers  of  attraction  that  I  should 
fear  an  insignificant  girl  the  first  time  he  sees  her  ? 
Only  this  I  know — that  I  hate  her — hate  her  for 
coming  between  me  and  the  prize  I  hoped  to  win  to- 
night." 

All  unconscious  of  these  vengeful  thoughts,  Ag- 
nes walked  at  Harold's  side  to  the  corner  where 
they  would  take  the  car  for  downtown.  She  seemed 
to  be  walking  on  air,  and  her  heart  kept  throbbing 
in  a  most  unaccountable  way.  Near  the  corner  of 
the  street  a  burly  negro  was  lounging  against  a 
lamp-post ;  as  Harold  passed  him  he  gave  an  almost 
imperceptible  nod  of  his  head,  which  the  negro  re- 
plied to  with  the  same  signal.  When  the  car  came 
along  Harold  assisted  Agnes  to  enter  it,  and  he 
followed  her  aboard.  As  the  car  went  on  its  way 
the  negro  was  standing  on  the  back  platform. 

When  they  reached  the  rescue  home,  Agnes  led 
Harold  into  the  building,  while  the  negro  stationed 
himself  like  a  sentinel  at  the  door.  The  young  girl 
introduced  her  escort  to  Mr.  Messenger,  and  the  two 
men  cordially  shook  hands.  While  Agnes  went  to 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  HOME  213 

bring  Maggie  to  the  office,  Mr.  Messenger  broached 
his  favorite  subject — praise  of  his  Agnus  Dei,  as  he 
called  her.  He  told  Harold  the  circumstances  which 
had  brought  about  her  connection  with  the  home  and 
the  good  she  was  accomplishing  every  day  of  her 
life.  He  also  spoke  highly  of  her  literary  talent, 
which  was  shown  not  only  in  verses,  but  also  in  the 
essays  she  wrote,  chiefly  on  social  problems  coming 
under  her  own  observation.  These  essays  were 
eagerly  accepted  by  magazines  and  newspapers,  and 
were  shortly  to  be  bound  and  published  in  book  form, 
as  was  also  a  volume  of  her  collected  poems.  In 
answer  to  a  question  from  Harold,  he  told  how  she 
had  rescued  Maggie  from  the  hands  of  her  tormentor 
and  brought  her  to  the  home. 

"The  institution  should  be  proud  of  her,"  de- 
clared the  young  man,  gratified  by  what  he  heard. 
"She  was  formerly  my  sister's  schoolmate,  and  we 
are  glad  that  by  her  coming  to  see  me  this  evening 
Gladys  has  been  able  to  renew  her  girlhood  friend- 
ship and  I  to  make  her  acquaintance." 

"And  you  will  never  regret  it,  sir,"  Mr.  Messen- 
ger assured  him.  "She  is  indeed  what  she  is  called, 
an  angel  of  the  slums." 


214        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

At  this  juncture  Agnes  entered  the  room,  leading 
in  Maggie  all  in  a  tremor  of  emotion  and  delight. 
She  would  have  thrown  herself  at  his  feet  had  not 
Harold  restrained  her. 

"Yer  saved  Jack's  life — yer  saved  Jack's  life!" 
she  kept  repeating,  pressing  her  lips  to  his  hand  and 
bedewing  it  with  tears.  "I'll  pray  fur  yer,  sir,  every 
night  fur  dat,  an'  fur  not  bein'  too  proud  to  come 
down  here  to  receive  der  t'anks  of  a  poor  girl  like 
meself." 

"If  I  felt  any  doubts  of  the  justification  of  my 
act,"  he  replied,  moved  in  spite  of  himself  by  her 
words  and  actions,  "I  feel  sure  now.  The  whole 
world  may  consider  me  crazy,  but,  at  least,  I  have 
made  fwo  human  beings  happier  than  they  were." 

"I  have  read  the  comments  of  the  press,"  smil- 
ingly said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Messenger,  "and  it  is  not 
that  you  have  saved  a  prisoner  from  jail  that  raises 
a  doubt  of  your  sanity,  for  that  is  a  common  oc- 
currence, but  that  you  have  broken  through  the  con- 
ventionalities of  your  class.  I  am  in  the  same  boat 
myself.  I  am  a  clergyman  who  has  no  regard  for 
the  formalities  of  his  profession,  and  they  are  saying 
that  I,  too,  am  a  little  touched  in  the  upper  story." 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  HOME  215 

"Well,  we  will  commiserate  with  each  other," 
laughed  Harold.  "Will  you  permit  me  to  send  you 
a  check  for  one  thousand  dollars  to-morrow  for  this 
institution  ?  In  return,  it  would  be  well  to  let  Mag- 
gie remain  here  until  we  see  what  eventually  hap- 
pens to  her  brother  and  myself." 

"Your  check  will  come  in  most  opportunely,"  said 
the  gratified  founder  of  the  home,  "and  I  thank  you 
for  your  generosity." 

Maggie  having  somewhat  recovered  her  self-pos- 
session, now  plied  Harold  for  the  details  of  how  he 
had  managed  to  get  her  brother  out  of  the  Tombs. 
He  good-naturedly  repeated  the  whole  story  and  fur- 
ther gladdened  her  heart  by  assuring  her  that  Jack 
was  safe  and  that  he  could  produce  him  at  any 
moment. 

When  the  time  came  for  him  to  leave  he  had  to 
almost  drag  himself  away  from  the  tearful  and 
radiantly  happy  Maggie.  He  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Messenger  and  exhorted  Agnes  to  be  sure  and  heed 
Gladys'  request  about  coming  to  see  them  often.  He 
promised  to  be  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  home,  and 
to  do  all  he  could  to  further  its  interests. 

Agnes  parted  with  him  at  the  door,  and  there  was 


216        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

an  unbidden  tear  in  her  eye  as  she  stood  watching 
him  pass  down  the  street.  She  noticed  that  the 
negro  who  had  been  lounging  against  the  lamp-post, 
and  whom  she  had  afterwards  observed  on  the  car, 
was  now  following  him  at  a  respectful  distance.  She 
surmised  his  identity,  and  a  smile  came  to  her  lips. 
"It's  Jack  McQuillan,"  she  murmured,  "consti- 
tuting himself  Mr.  Armytage's  body-guard.  He 
needs  one  in  this  low  neighborhood.  Heaven  shield 
and  protect  him  from  all  harm  for  his  sister's  sake 
— and  for  mine." 


MRS.  VAN'S  FREAK  PARTY        217 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MRS.  VAN'S  FREAK  PARTY 

A  /I  RS.  VAN'S  freak  party  came  off  on  the 
*  V*  appointed  Wednesday  evening,  and  was  the 
talk  of  the  town  and  of  the  society  papers  for  weeks 
after. 

She  had  requested  each  of  the  freaks  to  appear  in 
such  a  way  that  his  or  her  particular  fad  could  be 
told  at  a  glance,  and  there  is  nothing  that  pleases 
your  faddist  more  than  to  be  thus  placed  on  exhibi- 
tion. 

Thus  the  vegetarian  came  with  his  pockets  stuffed 
with  sample  boxes  of  his  favorite  meat  substitute, 
which  he  distributed  to  all,  at  the  same  time  expati- 
ating on  the  virtues  of  hygienic  cookery  at  twenty 
cents  a  square  meal  to  an  audience  which  preferred 
a  five-dollar  Delmonico  dinner.  The  lady  with  a 
super-developed  fondness  for  cats  and  dogs  was  there 


218        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

with  the  cutest,  flossiest  thing  in  poodles,  which  she 
carried  around  in  her  arms  all  the  evening  and  held  up 
for  universal  admiration.  The  man  who  gave  the 
monkey  dinners  brought  with  him  a  highly  intelli- 
gent ape,  grinning  and  chattering  all  the  while,  who 
acted  as  his  valet  in  the  cloak-room  and  as  his 
waiter  at  the  midnight  supper.  The  lady  of  the 
babes'  parties  came  attired  like  an  infant  of  the  ten- 
der age  of  two  years,  and  showed  how  excruciatingly 
funny  it  was  to  reply  with  "ooh-ooh"  and  "goo- 
goo"  to  all  questions  addressed  to  her.  There  were 
also  present  the  man  who  played  the  piano  with  the 
tip  of  his  nose,  and  the  lady  who  whistled,  the  society 
swell  who  could  do  acrobatic  stunts  and  who  had 
been^the  leading  spirit  in  an  amateur  circus,  and  the 
young  lady  who  gave  screeching  imitations  of  the 
tough  girl. 

Mrs.  Van  had  gathered  them  all  in,  in  numbers 
too  great  for  each  one's  particular  phase  of  idiocy 
to  be  detailed  in  this  place,  and  they  all  danced  and 
capered  and  went  through  their  "monkeyshines"  as 
if  life  held  no  serious  thought  for  them,  and  even 
amusement  itself  was  not  entertaining  unless  it  was 
vacuous,  insipid  and  stupid. 


MRS.  VAN'S  FREAK  PARTY        219 

Those  who  came  to  laugh  at  the  freaks,  but  did 
not  consider  themselves  of  them,  thought  it  was 
necessary  to  be  walking  fashion-plates  or  animated 
advertisements  of  their  boundless  wealth.  Such  a 
lavish  display  of  silks  and  satins  and  priceless  laces, 
such  a  flash  and  glitter  of  diamonds — in  the  hair 
and  ears,  on  the  bosoms,  around  the  necks  and  waists, 
in  seams  on  the  gowns  and  as  buckles  for  the  slip- 
pers— had  probably  never  before  been  seen  under 
the  roof  of  a  single  house.  And  the  women  thus 
attired — spending  tens  and  hundreds  of  thousands 
in  riotous  extravagance,  the  proceeds  of  their  hus- 
bands' or  fathers'  successful  speculations  in  Wall 
Street,  or  in  wheat,  cotton,  oil  or  other  common  ne- 
cessity of  mankind — eased  their  consciences,  if  they 
had  any,  by  sending  an  occasional  check  for  a  hun- 
dred or  a  thousand  dollars  to  some  pet  charity  and 
by  having  their  names  emblazoned  in  the  institution 
blue  book  as  a  "patroness"  or  "benefactress." 

In  the  streets  without,  carriage  after  carriage 
rolled  up,  leaving  more  gorgeously  attired  butterflies 
of  fashion  and  their  escorts,  guests  to  this  most 
novel  function  of  the  season,  who  passed  into  the 
house  between  two  rows  of  admiring  "common  peo- 


220       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

pie,"  some  of  them  too  thinly  and  poorly  clad  for 
the  time  of  the  year,  and  some  wondering  where 
their  next  meal  was  to  come  from. 

At  ten  o'clock,  when  practically  all  who  had  been 
invited  had  arrived,  Mrs.  Van,  in  a  really  witty  little 
speech,  introduced  her  various  freaks  to  the  com- 
pany, winding  up  with  putting  Harold  himself  on 
exhibition,  much  to  the  latter's  surprise  and  barely 
concealed  chagrin. 

"Insane,  but  perfectly  harmless,  I  assure  you," 
she  said,  pointing  him  out  to  her  guests.  "Mr. 
Armytage,  the  millionaire  friend  and  champion  of 
the  poor  and  down-trodden,  who  rescues  condemned 
murderers  from  jail.  I'm  proud  of  him  because  none 
of  you  has  a  fad  that  is  anywhere  near  as  costly  as 
his.  I  am  told  that  there  are  hundreds  of  jail-birds 
yearning  for  a  visit  from  him,  and  ten  thousand  of 
the  lowly  right  here  in  New  York,  each  of  whom 
would  be  satisfied  with  the  touch  of  a  ten-dollar  bill. 
My  champion  freak,  ladies  and  gentlemen!" 

Harold  had  to  bite  his  lips  and  swallow  his  cha- 
grin as  best  he  could.  It  was  no  use  to  defend  him- 
self against  this  raillery  in  a  company  like  this. 

When  the  laughter  and  applause  which  greeted 


MRS.  VAN'S  FREAK  PARTY         221 

her  remarks  had  subsided,  Mrs.  Van  began  the  "in- 
tellectual" entertainment  of  the  evening  by  request- 
ing the  man  who  played  the  piano  with  his  nose  to 
give  an  exhibition  of  his  peculiar  talents.  Then  the 
girl  who  whistled  gave  a  rendition  of  the  "Mocking- 
bird," with  whistling  variations ;  the  amateur  circus 
man  did  his  acrobatic  stunts,  and  the  lady  from 
Fifth  Avenue  gave  a  realistic  and  slangy  delineation 
of  the  "Belle  of  Avenue  A."  Other  similar  features 
on  the  program  followed  in  rapid  succession,  all  of 
which  were  received  with  shouts  of  laughter  and 
expressions  of  intense  delight  by  the  highly  cultured 
and  discriminating  audience,  and  then  the  spacious 
drawing-rooms  were  cleared  for  the  dance.  A  really 
fine  band  of  music,  stationed  behind  an  arrangement 
of  palms,  struck  up  the  sensuous  strains  of  a  dreamy 
waltz,  and  soon  the  gay  couples  were  gliding  over 
the  highly  polished  parquet  flooring,  from  which 
the  rugs  had  been  removed. 

The  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere,  who  had  of  course 
been  invited,  seeing  that  Gladys  was  to  be  present, 
approached  her,  and,  in  his  most  gallant  and  Gallic 
manner,  begged  the  honor  of  having  her  as  a  part- 
ner in  the  dance.  Gladys  graciously  consented,  and 


222       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

the  two  became  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  as  they  kept 
rhythmic  time  with  the  music  in  the  mazy  steps  of 
the  waltz,  which  the  Marquis  danced  to  perfection. 
The  "Willie-boys"  with  admiring  eyes  watched  the 
perfectly  matched  pair. 

"Ah,  by  Jove!"  declared  one,  "if  we  could  do  a 
waltz  like  that,  that  French  marquis  wouldn't  cut 
us  out,  doncherknow  ?" 

"I  s'pose  we  won't  be  in  it  with  Gladys  after  to- 
night," commented  another.  "I'm  going  to  awsk 
my  governor  for  an  allowance,  doncherknow,  and 
take  a  run  over  to  Paris  and  get  some  French  style 
on  me." 

If  the  "Willie-boys"  acknowledged  their  defeat  as 
far  as  the  young  American  heiress  was  concerned,  the 
fair  and  portly  mothers  of  eligible  daughters  were 
equally  frank  in  respect  to  the  scion  of  the  French 
nobility. 

"A  marquis  now,"  said  one,  addressing  the  lean 
and  gaunt  offspring  of  her  bosom,  "and  a  duke  when 
his  uncle  dies.  It's  too  provoking  to  see  Gladys 
gobble  him  up  before  our  very  eyes.  Oh,  Arabella, 
why  weren't  you  born  more  good-looking  even  if  less 
wealthy?" 


MRS.  VAN'S  FREAK  PARTY        223 

"It  isn't  Gladys'  good  looks  he's  after,"  spitefully 
declared  Arabella,  "but  her  check-book.  I'd  rather 
marry  an  American  if  he  were  only  a  clerk  in  a 
dry-goods  store." 

Which  was  only  another  application  of  the  fable 
of  the  fox  and  the  sour  grapes. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  dance  Gladys  complained 
of  the  oppressive  heat,  which  afforded  the  Marquis 
the  chance  of  offering  to  take  her  to  the  conservatory, 
where  ices  and  cooling  drinks  were  being  served. 
She  nodded  her  consent,  and  the  nobleman  led  her 
through  one  of  the  long  French  windows  at  the  rear 
of  the  drawing-room  into  a  perfect  bower,  cool  and 
delightful,  where  the  air  was  perfumed  with  the 
fragrance  of  a  hundred  exotics,  the  eye  pleased  with 
the  floral  beauties  everywhere  displayed,  and  the 
ear  charmed  with  the  tinkling  of  the  water  in  the 
fountain  which  formed  the  center-piece  of  the  con- 
servatory. Around  the  basin  of  this  fountain  ran 
a  circular  bench,  but  it  was  already  filled  by  budding 
beauties  and  their  swains.  The  Marquis  conducted 
his  fair  companion  along  one  of  the  pebbly  paths 
radiating  from  the  fountain  and  leading  to  a  rustic 
arbor  with  just  room  enough  for  two,  and  shut  out 


224       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

from  prying  eyes  by  trailing  vines.  A  hanging 
lamp  of  fancifully  wrought  iron  and  dark-tinted 
glass  depended  from  the  roof  of  the  arbor  and  dimly 
illuminated  it.  Here,  surrounded  by  the  beauties 
of  sound  and  sight,  the  senses  lulled  by  the  faint 
strains  of  the  distant  music,  a  loving  pair  could  sit 
and  dream  the  hours  away  in  an  ecstasy  of  bliss. 

This  arbor  was  one  of  the  tools  of  trade  of  the 
wily  marriage-broker,  and  many  an  international 
match  had  been  arranged  therein,  to  the  financial 
profit  of  the  fair  and  buxom  widow  of  Van  Court- 
landt  and  of  DePeyster.  She  had  no  need  to  give  a 
prospective  bridegroom  a  tip  as  to  its  locality,  though 
she  sometimes  did  so.  As  a  rule  he  discovered  it 
himself.  Mrs.  Van  would  sometimes  admit  to  her 
most  intimate  friends  that  that  arbor  was  worth  to 
her  its  weight  in  gold. 

Fortune  smiled  on  the  Marquis  to-night,  for  he 
found  the  arbor  unoccupied;  and  leading  Gladys 
to  the  rustic  bench,  on  which  two  could  just  find  a 
seat,  he  left  her  there,  with  an  apology,  while  he 
went  to  get  her  an  ice  and  something  to  drink.  He 
soon  returned  bearing  a  salver  containing  the  ice, 


MRS.  VAN'S  FREAK  PARTY        225 

some  fancy  cakes,  two  glasses  and  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne. 

"Permit  me  to  play  the  waiter,"  he  gaily  ex- 
claimed, depositing  the  tray  on  a  handy  tabouret. 
Then,  spreading  a  napkin  over  her  dress,  he  handed 
her  a  glass  of  the  sherbet  and  some  of  the  cake.  He 
served  himself  with  the  same  and  for  a  time  the 
two  sat  eating  and  talking  the  usual  commonplaces. 
Then,  removing  the  dishes,  he  took  up  the  bottle  of 
champagne. 

"Ah,  the  grand  wine  of  my  own  France!"  he 
cried,  as  he  deftly  opened  the  bottle  and  poured  the 
foaming  liquid  into  the  glasses.  "Its  spirit  is  joy- 
ous like  that  of  my  countrymen;  its  taste  divine 
like  a  woman's  kisses;  it  is  the  wine  of  love  and 
glory."  He  handed  her  one  of  the  dainty  tulip- 
shaped  glasses. 

"We  will  drink,"  he  said,  raising  his  glass,  "to 
love  and  glory." 

"To  love  and  glory,"  slowly  repeated  Gladys  as 
she  touched  her  glass  to  his.  Then  they  drank  the 
toast. 

"It  is  a  grand  combination,"  she  said  as  she  laid 
down  the  empty  glass;  "but  tell  me,  Marquis,  does 


226        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

it  not  sometimes  happen  that  one  has  to  choose  be- 
tween them  ?" 

"Sometimes — yes,"  he  admitted  with  a  character- 
istic shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"And  in  that  case?" 

"Ma  foi!  it  depends.  See,  mademoiselle,  I  come 
of  a  distinguished  family.  Back  to  the  time  of  the 
Crusaders  our  watchword  has  been  glory — glory  for 
France  above  all  and  then  glory  for  the  Belle- 
Rivieres.  It  was  the  oriflamme  which  led  my  an- 
cestors into  the  thickest  of  the  battle;  if  they  came 
back  alive  the  glory  was  theirs — if  they  died,  it  was  a 
glorious  death."  ;  ,;-;~ 

"And  the  ladies  Belle-Riviere  ?"  asked  Gladys  in  a 
peculiar  tone  of  voice. 

The  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  gazed 
at  her  keenly  before  he  answered. 

"Some  of  them  preferred  love  to  glory,"  he  then 
said.  "It  is  not  for  me  to  say  whether  their  choice 
was  wise  or  not.  Happiness  sometimes  dwells  amidst 
obscurity.  But  there  have  been  ladies  who  linked 
their  names  with  the  Belle-Rivieres  for  the  sake  of 
thfe  glory  of  the  family,  and  lo !  love  came  to  them, 
too,  and  they  were  doubly  happy." 


MRS.  VAN'S  FREAK  PARTY        227 

There  was  no  gainsaying  the  meaning  of  his 
words.  Gladys  had  too  keen  an  intelligence  not  to 
know  that  he  was  paving  the  way  for  a  proposal. 
She  knew  her  fate  would  be  decided  in  the  next  few 
moments.  She  could  stretch  forth  her  hand  and 
grasp  the  prize.  Marquise  now,  and  Duchess  when 
the  old  Duke  died.  She  was  almost  angry  at  her- 
self that,  beyond  an  elation  of  pride,  her  heart  lay 
heavy  in  her  bosom. 

"But  if  the  glory  is  that  of  the  Belle-Rivieres,"  she 
asked  in  a  low  voice,  "and  the  love  that  comes  after 
marriage  is  for  another  ?" 

"The  ladies  Belle-Riviere  have  always  been  wom- 
en of  honor,"  he  replied,  all  his  pride  of  race 
stung  to  the  quick.  "Some  have  gone  loveless  to  the 
grave,  none  has  ever  cast  the  shadow  of  a  stain 
on  the  family  name.  Ah,  mademoiselle,"  he  added, 
in  more  fervent  tones,  "I  cannot  pretend  to  be  blind 
to  the  struggle  that  is  going  on  in  your  heart.  I 
cannot  expect  that  in  the  short  time  you  have  known 
me,  you  should  have  learned  to  love  me.  But  I 
have  learned  the  sweet  lesson  and  I  offer  you  my 
heart  and  the  honor  and  glory  of  Belle-Riviere.  Ac- 
cept me,  I  pray,  and  my  love  will  awaken  a  respon- 


228       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

sive  chord  in  your  heart;  accept  me,  if  you  so  see  fit, 
for  the  glory  of  my  name,  and,  I  assure  you,  love, 
too,  will  come  to  render  you  doubly  happy." 

He  passed  his  arm  around  her  waist  as  he  spoke, 
and  gazed  into  her  eyes  with  a  look  which  seemed 
to  hypnotize  her.  She  scarcely  knew  that  she  was 
talking,  yet  she  clearly  said : 

"Let  us  hope  for  your  sake  and  mine  that  love  will 
come,  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere;  I  accept  you  for 
the  glory  of  your  name." 

That  same  night  the  Marquis  cabled  to  his  uncle, 
the  Duke,  as  follows : 

"I  have  captured  la  belle  Americaine.  The  glories 
of  Belle-Riviere  will  be  revived." 


THE  TRIAL  229 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  TRIAL 

HP  HE  announcement  of  the  engagement  of  Miss 
•*  Gladys  Armytage,  heiress  in  her  own  right  to 
a  two-million  dollar  interest  in  the  Armytage  Print- 
ing Press  Works  of  New  York,  to  Caesar  Claude 
Etienne,  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere,  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  the  Bouches  du  Rhone  and  of  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain,  Paris,  was  received  by  society  and  the 
press  with  the  usual  comments  which  greet  such  al- 
liances. Every  daughter  of  a  retired  sugar  king, 
coal  baron,  railroad  magnate  or  pickle  manufacturer 
became  green  with  envy  at  the  thought  that  Gladys 
had  captured  the  catch  of  the  season;  every  sap- 
headed  "Willie-boy"  felt  called  upon  to  deplore  the 
lack  of  patriotism  in  the  modern  American  girl  who 
would  prefer  the  degenerate  scion  of  an  effete  no- 


230       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

bility,  as  he  phrased  it,  to  a  sturdy  son  of  democ- 
racy like  himself. 

The  more  sensational  press — while  printing  por- 
traits of  the  prospective  bride  and  groom,  and  pic- 
tures of  the  chateau  on  the  Rhone  and  the  hotel  in 
the  Faubourg,  as  also  of  portions  of  a  trousseau  as 
yet  unbought  and  unthought  of — made  the  betrothal 
the  basis  of  many  a  fiery  editorial,  in  which  they 
defiantly  charged  that  the  Old  World,  unable  to 
conquer  America  by  force  of  arms,  was  using  the 
more  insidious  and  more  successful  means  of  win- 
ning the  hearts  of  our  American  girls  in  order  to 
capture  our  American  dollars. 

Meanwhile  Etienne  and  Gladys,  having  received 
Harold's  good-natured,  fraternal  consent  and  bless- 
ing, were  wholly  oblivious  to  or  ignored  any  ill- 
natured  comments  of  press  and  public,  and  went  on 
their  own  way,  giving  or  attending  receptions,  din- 
ners, theater  parties,  and  all  the  diversions  of  the 
social  swim,  each  having  an  honest  liking  and  es- 
teem for  the  other  and  sincerely  hoping  that  before 
the  wedding  their  mutual  feelings  would  have 
ripened  into  love. 

All  this  while  the  firm  of  Carruthers,  Bigsby  & 


THE  TRIAL  231 

Carruthers  were  busy  with  the  preparation  for 
Harold's  trial.  The  Grand  Jury  had  brought  in  an 
indictment  in  which  Harold  Armytage  was  charged 
with  having  wilfully,  maliciously,  feloniously  and 
with  criminal  intent  aided  and  abetted  the  escape  of  a 
prisoner  from  the  city  prison  of  the  city  of  New  York, 
to  wit,  one  John  McQuillan,  tried  for  and  convicted 
of  murder  in  the  first  degree,  against  the  peace  and 
dignity  of  the  people  of  the  State  of  New  York. 
To  this  indictment  Harold  had  been  called  before 
the  Court  of  General  Sessions  to  plead,  and,  by  ad- 
vice of  counsel,  had  remained  mute,  and  the  clerk 
of  the  court  had  entered  a  technical  plea  of  not 
guilty  on  the  papers.  The  prisoner's  bail  was  re- 
newed and  the  trial  was  set  down  for  one  month 
from  that  day,  when  the  Recorder  would  be  on  the 
bench.  The  whole  proceeding  did  not  last  over  five 
minutes,  and  most  of  it  was  like  so  much  Greek  to 
Harold,  who  had  never  had  any  patience  with  the 
technicalities  of  the  law. 

As  Mr.  Carruthers,  the  head  of  the  law  firm  and 
his  chief  counsel,  now  rarely  or  never  consulted  him 
as  to  the  conduct  of  the  case,  in  which  there  was  no 
dispute  of  facts  except  on  the  one  question  of  the 


232        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

sanity  of  the  accused,  Harold  himself  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  it.  He  did  not  even  seem  to  perceive  a  pe- 
culiar coincidence  in  the  fact  that  a  number  of  per- 
sons were  introduced  to  him  by  his  sister  or  Alicia 
at  his  own  home,  or  at  receptions  or  entertainments, 
who  would  in  a  careless,  off-hand  manner  inquire 
about  his  general  health ;  whether  he  was  sure  he  had 
fully  recovered  from  that  sunstroke  which  had  pros- 
trated him  for  several  weeks  while  crossing  the 
Desert  of  Sahara ;  whether  he  was  troubled  with  in- 
somnia, absent-mindedness,  twitching  of  the  fingers, 
etc.,  etc.  He  thought  it  was  a  great  bore  to  be  ques- 
tioned in  this  way,  and  that  the  physicians  ought 
to  have  better  manners  than  to  drag  their  shop-talk 
with  them  when  they  paid  social  visits. 

He  did  not  suspect  that  it  was  all  part  of  a  wily 
scheme  hatched  by  his  counsel,  with  the  assistance  of 
his  sister  and  Alicia,  and  with  the  actual  connivance 
of  the  District  Attorney  and  the  Recorder.  The  Dis- 
trict Attorney  was  a  man  of  very  peculiar  ideas  for 
the  position  he  held.  He  in  fact  secretly  sympa- 
thized with  Harold  and  privately  told  some  of  his 
cronies  that  he  would  have  acted  in  a  similar  manner 
if  he  had  been  in  Harold's  place.  He  did  not  care  to 


THE  TRIAL  233 

see  him  punished,  but  the  statute  was  mandatory, 
and  there  was  no  way  out  of  it  but  to  have  the  pris- 
oner judicially  decreed  to  have  been  insane  at  the 
time  of  the  commission  of  the  crime.  He  would 
make  but  a  perfunctory  effort  to  prevent  the  trial 
jury  from  bringing  in  such  a  verdict.  A  brief  con- 
finement in  an  insane  asylum,  already  selected,  would 
follow,  and  then  Harold  would  be  released  as  cured. 

The  Recorder  readily  agreed  to  this  plan  because 
he  sincerely  believed  Harold  to  have  been  insane, 
deeming  it  impossible  for  a  person  in  full  possession 
of  his  mental  faculties  to  have  made  such  use  of  the 
letter  to  the  warden.  He  thought  the  medical  ex- 
perts would  find  no  difficulty  in  presenting  sufficient 
evidence  to  convince  the  jury,  and,  feeling  his  own 
conscience  clear  in  the  matter,  saw  no  reason  why 
he,  himself,  should  not  preside  at  the  trial.  As  to 
any  criticism  in  the  public  press,  he  was  serenely 
indifferent  to  it,  as  long  as  he  was  sure  in  his  own 
mind  that  he  was  right  in  any  line  of  conduct  he 
marked  out  for  himself. 

Gladys  and  Alicia,  being  told  by  Mr.  Carruthers 
that  this  was  the  only  way  to  save  Harold  from 
State's  prison,  naturally  did  all  they  could  to  as- 


234       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

sist  the  lawyer  and  kept  the  whole  matter  a  secret 
from  Harold  lest  he  should  put  a  spoke  in  their 
wheel. 

As  to  Harold,  the  nearer  the  day  of  trial  ap- 
proached the  more  he  disliked  the  idea  that  any  act 
of  his  should  be  stigmatized  as  the  emanation  of  a 
diseased  mind.  He  did  not  relish  the  thought  of 
being  sentenced  to  Sing  Sing ;  he  considered  the  ends 
of  justice  would  be  sufficiently  subserved — since  he 
was  not  permitted  to  plead  guilty — if  he  were  found 
guilty  by  the  jury  and  sentence  suspended  indefi- 
nitely by  the  Recorder.  Of  one  thing  he  was  fully 
determined — never  would  he  permit  them,  if  he  could 
possibly  help  it,  to  place  him  in  a  lunatic  asylum, 
not  even  for  five  minutes.  He  smiled  grimly  as  he 
felt  of  the  well  developed  muscles  of  his  arms,  and 
thought  of  the  well  stocked  arsenal  he  had  in  his  gun- 
room. Then  he  thought  of  Jack  McQuillan,  that 
prodigy  of  strength,  who  was  worth  a  dozen  men 
as  a  body-guard.  The  result  of  his  cogitations  was 
that  he  had  several  interviews  with  the  burly  negro 
ever  lurking  in  the  neighborhood,  and  finally  en- 
gaged him  as  his  valet  and  gave  him  sleeping  ac- 
commodation in  the  house. 


THE  TRIAL  235 

The  very  boldness  of  this  act  was  its  best  war- 
rant of  success.  The  Jackson  Street  disguiser  of 
crooks  was  clever,  and  the  shrewdest  detectives  who 
had  been  put  on  the  job  to  find  the  escaped  convict 
did  not  suspect  that  the  darky  they  kept  brushing 
against  was  a  white  man  and  the  very  one  they  were 
in  search  of ;  least  of  all  would  they  seek  to  find  the 
man  under  the  very  roof  of  the  Armytage  mansion, 
clad  in  a  natty,  brass-buttoned  uniform,  answering  to 
the  name  of  Sam,  blacking  his  master's  boots,  run- 
ning on  his  errands,  and  accompanying  him  on  his 
walks. 

Thus  the  day  for  the  trial  drew  nearer  and  nearer 
and  finally  dawned.  The  courtroom  was  packed 
with  the  elite  of  society,  come  to  see  the  trial  of  one 
of  their  own  set,  though  every  one  knew  that  the 
outcome  was  practically  a  foregone  conclusion. 
Gladys  and  Alicia,  escorted  by  the  Marquis,  occu- 
pied prominent  seats  and  were  much  gazed  at  and 
commented  upon  by  the  audience.  Far  in  the  back, 
near  the  door,  sat  Agnes  Merrihew.  She  had  crept 
in  unobserved,  and,  though  she  saw  Gladys,  made  no 
effort  to  approach  her.  She  sat  there  with  hands 
clasped  and  a  tense  expression  on  her  face,  watching 


236       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

the  door  through  which  the  accused  was  to  enter  the 
courtroom. 

The  entrance  of  the  District  Attorney  with  some 
of  his  associates  created  a  stir;  there  was  a  sudden 
sitting  up  and  a  murmur  of  expectancy  on  the  part 
of  the  audience.  This  was  followed  by  the  crier  rap- 
ping his  desk  and  calling  out : 

"His  Honor  the  Recorder !" 

Every  one  stood  up  and  remained  standing  in  a 
respectful  attitude  until  the  magistrate  had  ascended 
the  bench  and  bowed  to  the  audience.  There  was 
a  moment's  bustle  while  seats  were  being  resumed, 
then  in  a  clear  tone  of  voice  the  Recorder  said  : 

"There  will  be  no  call  of  the  calendar  to-day.  All 
cases  stand  adjourned  until  to-morrow  except  that 
of  the  people  against  Harold  Armytage,  in  which,  I 
understand,  both  sides  are  ready.  Call  the  prisoner." 

"Harold  Armytajfe  to  the  bar!"  called  out  the 
crier. 

The  side  door  opened  and  from  an  adjoining  room 
in  which  he  had  been  waiting  Harold  entered  the 
courtroom,  followed  by  Mr.  Carruthers  and  the 
junior  counsel. 

A  murmur  of  admiration  ran  through  the  crowded 


THE  TRIAL  237 

room  as  Harold,  without  any  theatrical  posing,  but 
wearing  a  look  of  fixed  determination  on  his  face, 
advanced  and  took  a  seat  at  the  counsel-table  pointed 
out  by  Mr.  Carruthers.  He  smiled  at  his  sister, 
gave  Alicia  a  slight  nod,  and  then  his  eyes  roved 
around  the  room  as  if  in  search  of  some  one  else, 
finally  resting  on  Agnes'  bowed  head,  while  a  feel- 
ing of  content  and  satisfaction  was  expressed  in  his 
face. 

"I  thought  she  would  be  here,"  he  murmured  to 
himself. 

Beyond  the  first  look  she  gave  him  as  he  entered, 
Agnes  had  not  dared  to  meet  his  eyes. 

"How  handsome  he  is!"  was  the  thought  that 
surged  in  her  fluttering  heart;  then  she  looked  down 
on  the  floor  and  kept  her  eyes  fixed  there. 

"Empanel  the  jury,"  ordered  the  Recorder. 

The  clerk  began  to  call  out  the  names,  and  both 
the  prosecution  and  the  defense  accepted  the  first 
twelve  men.  There  was  no  challenging  on  either 
side.  After  the  jury  had  taken  their  seats  in  the 
box  and  had  been  sworn  in,  the  rest  of  the  panel  was 
excused  for  the  day;  the  actual  trial  was  begun. 

The  District  Attorney  arose  and  gave  a  history  of 


238       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

the  case,  then  continued:  "I  understand,  Your 
Honor,  that  there  is  no  dispute  as  to  the  facts  I 
have  stated,  and  to  expedite  matters  I  ask  the  coun- 
sel on  the  other  side  if  he  will  consent  that  a  state- 
ment to  that  effect  be  entered  on  the  minutes  in  lieu 
of  my  calling  witnesses  to  prove  the  same." 

"We  consent,  Your  Honor,"  said  Mr.  Carruth- 
ers. 

"Then  that  is  the  case  of  the  people,"  said  the  Dis- 
trict Attorney,  and  resumed  his  seat. 

Mr.  Carruthers  then  arose,  and,  addressing  the 
court  and  jury,  said : 

"The  facts  as  stated  by  the  District  Attorney  are 
true  and  cannot  be  gainsaid  by  us.  Our  defense  is 
that  at  the  time  of  the  commission  of  the  alleged 
crime  the  prisoner  was  mentally  and  hence  legally 
irresponsible  for  his  actions." 

A  smile  ran  through  the  audience.  The  foregone 
conclusion  was  being  put  in  evidence.  If  it  were 
not  one  of  their  own  set  who  was  being  tried  for 
his  liberty,  they  would  have  indignantly  denounced 
it  as  a  travesty  on  justice.  Harold  made  a  motion 
as  if  to  rise  and  interrupt  his  lawyer,  but  the  junior 


THE  TRIAL  239 

counsel  held  him  back,  and  on  second  thoughts  he 
sank  back  in  his  seat,  murmuring  between  his  teeth : 

"We  will  see." 

Mr.  Carruthers  then  began  a  long  biography  of 
both  the  Armytage  and  the  DePeyster  families, 
starting  as  far  back  as  Harold's  great  grandparents. 
He  stated  that  he  would  show  how  the  Armytages 
in  England  had  had  several  weak-minded  members 
of  the  family,  who  had  been  committed  to  various 
insane  asylums;  how  the  DePeyster  who  had  led  a 
regiment  in  the  Revolution  was  known  as  "The  Mad 
Colonel"  on  account  of  his  hair-raising  adventures; 
how  there  were  several  cousins  more  or  less  remote 
who  were  complete  or  partial  idiots  from  their  very 
birth,  and  so  on  in  a  similar  strain.  He  next  would 
offer  proof  that  on  a  tiger-hunting  trip  in  India  the 
defendant  had  been  attacked  by  a  man-eating  tiger, 
whose  claws  had  lacerated  his  skull,  causing  the 
brain  to  be  injured,  and  that  this  had  been  followed 
by  a  sunstroke  in  the  Desert  of  Sahara  which  pros- 
trated the  defendant  for  several  weeks.  He  would 
quote  medical  authorities  of  the  highest  standing  to 
the  effect  that  injuries  to  the  brain  were  prolific 
causes  of  insanity,  and  that  sunstrokes  had  sent  more 


240        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

people  to  lunatic  asylums  than  any  other  one  cause. 
He  would  put  on  the  stand  experts  in  alienism  of 
world-wide  reputation  who  would  testify  that  they 
had  personally  examined  and  conversed  with  the  de- 
fendant, and  from  such  examination  and  conversa- 
tion had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  been 
insane  when  he  set  free  a  convicted  murderer,  per- 
haps, to  repeat  his  homicidal  crime — nay,  that  he  was 
still  insane  at  this  very  moment! 

"Ah !"  breathed  Harold  heavily,  as  he  now  saw  the 
full  significance  of  the  conversations  these  medical 
gentlemen  had  had  with  him.  But  he  made  no  fur- 
ther effort  to  interrupt  his  counsel,  only  there  was 
a  brighter  glitter  in  his  eyes  and  a  firmer  clinching 
of  his  ringers. 

Mr.  Carruthers  spoke  for  an  hour  and  then  sat 
down. 

One  of  the  junior  counsel  next  arose  and  called 
as  the  first  witness  Mrs.  Van  Courtlandt  DePeyster. 

The  buxom  widow,  in  an  attire  which,  while  un- 
doubtedly a  work  of  art,  as  was  her  complexion, 
could,  like  its  fair  wearer,  speak  for  itself,  made  her 
way  to  the  witness  stand  and  gave  a  succinct  his- 
tory of  all  the  DePeysters,  dead  and  gone  as  well 


THE  TRIAL  241 

as  those  still  alive — a  marvelous  achievement,  con- 
sidering the  fact  that  she  had  married  into  the  family 
only  a  few  years  back.  The  District  Attorney  did 
not  cross-examine  her  or  Gladys,  who  was  the  next 
witness,  and  who  testified  to  the  history  of  the 
English  Armytages,  which  she  had  looked  into,  she 
admitted,  only  since  her  brother's  trouble. 

We  need  not  detail  the  evidence  of  the  medical  ex- 
perts or  give  the  long  hypothetical  questions  read  to 
them  and  which  they  were  sternly  requested  to  an- 
swer with  a  simple  "yes"  or  "no."  A  second  junior 
counsel  read  whole  theses  on  brain  diseases  and  sun- 
strokes from  bulky  volumes  of  medical  lore,  and  by 
the  time  the  District  Attorney  had  put  in  a  mild  re- 
buttal of  all  this  testimony  and  Mr.  Carruthers  had 
summed  up  for  the  defense  and  an  Assistant  District 
Attorney  for  the  people,  the  jury  was  in  such  a  state 
of  mental  confusion  that  they  barely  knew  whether 
they  were  to  bring  in  a  verdict  that  the  prisoner  was 
insane  or  that  they  themselves  were  fit  candidates  for 
the  lunatic  asylum. 

The  Recorder's  charge  was  very  brief  indeed.  He 
simply  put  the  entire  responsibility  on  the  jury, 


242        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

which,  after  retiring  for  half  an  hour,  returned  with 
the  verdict  : 

"Acquitted   on  the   ground   of   insanity  of  the 
defendant !" 


LEGALLY  INSANE  243 


CHAPTER  XX 

LEGALLY  INSANE 

TT  HERE  was  a  stir  in  the  crowded  courtroom  as 
*  the  jury  rendered  its  verdict,  and  all  eyes  were 
turned  on  Harold  to  see  how  he  would  take  it.  At 
the  request  of  the  Recorder  he  had  stood  up  as  the 
jury  filed  into  the  room  and  had  remained  standing 
as  the  verdict  was  announced  by  the  foreman.  The 
hectic  flush  on  his  cheeks  deepened,  his  breath  came 
harder  and  his  eyes  sparkled  more  brightly.  These, 
with  a  spasmodic  clenching  of  his  right  hand,  were 
the  only  outward  signs  of  the  battle  waging  in  his 
heart  and  which  was  soon  to  burst  forth  in  a  way 
little  anticipated  by  either  judge,  jury  or  the  spec- 
tators. He  remained  standing  with  his  head  bowed 
while  the  Recorder  addressed  him. 

"Mr.  Armytage,"  said  His  Honor,  "the  verdict 
of  the  jury  places  upon  my  shoulders  a  painful  re- 


244        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

sponsibility,  yet  not  so  painful  a  one  as  if  I  were 
obliged  to  sentence  you  to  a  term  in  State's  prison. 
It  is  fortunate,  too,  for  myself,  that  in  all  good  con- 
science, I  can  heartily  agree  in  the  verdict.  I  have 
suffered  some  unmerited  censure  for  my  connection 
with  this  case.  Henceforth  I  cannot  be  blamed  for 
not  being  able  to  foresee  the  acts  of  a  madman." 

Harold  made  a  motion  as  if  to  interrupt  at  this 
point,  but,  by  a  violent  effort,  controlled  himself,  and 
the  Recorder  continued : 

"I  knew  your  father  well;  he  was  a  dear  friend 
of  mine.  I  have  been  a  welcome  guest  at  your  house, 
have  broken  bread  with  you  and  have  been  honored 
and  respected  by  your  sister  and  your  acquaintances. 
Though,  even  so,  I  should  not  have  shrunk  from 
any  duty,  no  matter  how  unwelcome,  imposed  upon 
me ;  still,  it  is  a  matter  of  great  relief  and  consolation 
that  I  am  called  upon  only  to  pity,  not  to  condemn 
you.  By  the  evidence  produced  at  the  trial  it  was 
established  that  there  is  a  hereditary  taint  of  in- 
sanity in  your  family  on  both  sides,  which,  while 
dormant  under  ordinary  conditions,  was  likely 
to  burst  forth  if  any  cause  should  arise  to  pre- 
dispose it  to  do  so.  Such  causes,  according  to  the 


LEGALLY  INSANE  245 

expert  testimony  given  and  the  authorities  read, 
were  the  injury  to  your  brain  in  India  and  the  sun- 
stroke in  Africa.  With  your  brain  weakened  by 
these  accidents,  returning  after  years  of  absence  to 
your  native  land,  laboring  under  the  emotions  which 
such  a  return  would  naturally  call  forth,  welcomed 
by  your  sister  and  those  nearest  and  dearest  to  you, 
made  a  hero  at  a  banquet  in  your  honor,  your  mind 
was  in  a  state,  perhaps  unconscious  to  yourself,  to 
yield  to  the  first  call  for  an  abnormal  manifestation. 
Since  the  night  I  have  in  my  mind,  it  has  been  a 
matter  of  deep  regret  to  me  that  you  ever  permitted 
the  holy  representative  of  his  church  to  enter  the 
presence  of  yourself  and  your  guests." 

"You  mean  the  Soggarth  Aroon?"  ejaculated 
Harold  through  his  gritted  teeth. 

"I  understand  that  this  is  the  cognomen  he  is 
known  by,"  rejoined  the  magistrate,  "  The  People's 
Priest.'  Far  be  it  from  me  to  criticize  one  of  his 
cloth ;  he  undoubtedly  deems  that  he  is  serving  the 
Master  in  his  own  way ;  yet  the  Utopia  he  preaches 
will  never  be  realized,  and  all  that  he  can  accom- 
plish will  be  the  breeding  of  discontent  in  the 


246       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

hearts  of  the  poor  and  the  overturning  of  such  bril- 
liant but  tottering  intellects  as  yours." 

There  was  a  gleam  of  defiance  in  the  Recorder's 
eyes  as  he  uttered  these  words,  for  he  noticed  that 
the  Soggarth  Aroon  had  entered  the  courtroom  just 
in  time  to  overhear  them.  The  good  father  made 
no  attempt  to  create  a  scene  by  answering  them,  but, 
standing  in  the  back  near  where  Agnes  was  sitting, 
folded  his  hands  in  an  attitude  of  prayer,  while  his 
lips  kept  softly  murmuring  pious  admonitions. 

"Like  a  spark  to  a  train  of  powder,"  continued  His 
Honor,  "his  grandiloquent  phrases  of  the  Brother- 
hood of  Man  and  the  Fatherhood  of  God  set  fire  to 
your  imagination.  You  felt  that  you  must  leave 
your  surroundings  of  wealth  and  go  down  to  the 
Tombs  to  commune  with  a  common  murderer.  As 
I  have  already  stated,  I  unwittingly  gave  you  the 
opportunity  to  do  so.  I  could  not  suspect  any  more 
than  you  could  yourself  that  it  needed  only  the 
pitiful  tale  you  were  likely  to  hear  from  the  con- 
demned prisoner  to  put  you  in  a  state  of  utter  legal 
irresponsibility.  All  your  acts  from  that  moment 
were,  as  the  jury  properly  found  them,  the  acts  of 
an  insane  person,  harmless  enough  unless  further 


LEGALLY  INSANE  247 

provoked,  and  subject  to  cure  amid  proper  surround- 
ings and  under  the  ministrations  of  able  physicians. 
Your  counsel  and  your  sister,  I  know,  have  taken 
measures  in  that  direction,  and  the  court  is  ready 
and  willing  to  aid  them.  By  virtue  of  my  authority 
and  in  accordance  with  the  verdict  rendered  in  your 
case  I  commit  you  to  the  Flushing  Sanitarium,  there 
to  remain  until  you  are  cured,  when  you  may  be 
discharged  without  further  application  to  this  court 
and  without  being  put  in  jeopardy  of  your  liberty 
on  the  charge  for  which  you  were  indicted." 

At  the  Recorder's  last  words  two  men  in  the  uni- 
form of  the  sanitarium  stepped  up  and  laid  their 
hands  on  Harold's  shoulders.  With  a  growl  like 
that  of  an  enraged  lion  he  shook  them  off  and, 
gazing  straight  at  the  magistrate,  cried  : 

"I  demand  my  right — the  right  of  an  American 
citizen — to  be  heard  why  I  should  not  be  dragged 
off  and  put  in  a  mad-house." 

Then,  without  waiting  for  permission,  he  rapidly 
continued:  "I  have  listened  quietly  to  Your  Hon- 
or's plea  in  justification  of  the  judicial  farce  which 
has  been  enacted  here  to-day;  now  I  expect  that 


248       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Your  Honor  will  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say  in  justi- 
fication of  my  act." 

These  bold  words  sent  a  thrill  of  excitement 
through  the  courtroom,  and  all  listened  intently  to 
what  Harold  would  say  next.  Agnes  rose  to  her 
feet  as  if  to  draw  nearer,  but  sank  back  in  her  chair 
and  put  her  trembling  hand  in  that  of  the  Soggarth 
Aroon,  who  placed  his  other  hand  on  her  head  as  if 
in  benediction.  Gladys  and  Alicia  both  approached 
the  bar  before  which  Harold  was  standing  and 
ranged  themselves  on  either  side  of  him. 

The  silence  in  the  courtroom  was  profound  as, 
after  an  assenting  bow  from  the  Recorder,  the  young 
millionaire  began  his  justification:  "I  have  been 
adjudged  a  lunatic,  Your  Honor.  If  at  the  outset 
I  felt  inclined  to  protest  against  this  whole  proceed- 
ing I  have  no  such  desire  now.  Lunatics  have  privi- 
leges and  immunities  under  the  law  denied  to  men 
of  sound  mind,  and  I  have  been  placed  in  a  position 
to  take  advantage  of  them.  One  of  these  immunities 
is  that  I  can  no  longer  be  held  legally  responsible 
for  any  act  of  mine. 

"You  will  give  me  credit,"  he  continued,  "that  I 
have  done  nothing  to  aid  my  counsel  to  place  me  in 


LEGALLY  INSANE  249 

this  position.  He  never  consulted  me  as  to  the 
nature  of  my  defense.  I  was  unaware  that  the  wit- 
nesses who  testified  here  to-day  had  been  sent  by  him 
to  craftily  examine  and  interrogate  me  without  my 
suspecting  it.  If  my  sister,  with  Your  Honor's  ac- 
quiescence, has  made  preparations  to  have  me  taken 
from  here  to  a  sanitarium,  it  was  done  without  my 
knowledge  or  consent." 

"Oh,  Harold!"  interjected  Gladys;  "I  did  it  for 
your  own  good." 

"I  know — I  know,"  he  rejoined,  pressing  her  hand 
to  reassure  her,  "but  I  am  over  twenty-one,  fully 
able  to  mark  out  my  own  destiny,  and  willing  to 
abide  by  the  consequences  of  my  actions." 

He  again  turned  to  the  Recorder  and  continued : 

"It  is  true,  as  Your  Honor  stated,  that  the  words 
uttered  by  the  Soggarth  Aroon  at  my  house  on  the 
night  of  the  banquet  roused  my  soul  out  of  its 
lethargy.  It  was  a  new  baptism  for  me,  although  I 
did  not  recognize  it  until  I  was  brought  face  to  face 
with  a  victim  of  our  unjust  social  conditions.  I 
listened  to  his  story  and  felt  that  I  was  at  least 
partly  to  blame  for  the  tragedy  which  had  occurred 
and  which  he  was  to  expiate  in  the  electric  chair.  I 


250       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

thought  of  the  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of 
his  fellow  workingmen,  victims  of  their  environ- 
ment, some  possibly  more  degraded  than  he,  others 
a  little  better  circumstanced,  but  all  deprived  by  us, 
who  receive  what  we  do  not  earn,  of  their  rightful 
wages,  which  means  to  them,  to  their  wives  and 
children,  better  food,  better  lodging,  better  raiment, 
education,  enlightenment,  civilization,  happiness." 
He  paused  a  moment,  for  he  had  become  breathless 
in  his  eloquence,  and  there  was  a  painful  stir  in  that 
fashionable  audience,  who  had  never  heard  such 
sentiments  uttered  before.  A  tear  glistened  in  Agnes' 
eyes,  while  the  Soggarth  Aroon  under  his  breath 
murmured : 

"Good!" 

"I  pictured  to  myself,"  continued  Harold,  "what 
I  should  have  become  were  I  born  and  brought  up 
like  Jack  McQuillan,  and  I  felt,  in  my  heart,  that 
such  a  rage  against  existing  conditions  would  have 
seized  me  that  I  should  have  been  tempted  to  tear 
them  asunder  with  a  dynamite  bomb  if  necessary; 
in  a  word,  I  should  have  become  an  anarchist." 

"I  cannot  permit  you  to  continue  in  this  strain," 


LEGALLY  INSANE  251 

interrupted  the  Recorder.  "Such  language  is  un- 
heard of  in  a  court  of  law." 

"Excuse  me,  Your  Honor,"  retorted  Harold.  "I 
am  insane,  you  know,  and  cannot  be  held  liable  for 
my  words.  But  let  me  continue :  The  putting  my- 
self in  his  place  mentally  induced  the  thought  of  do- 
ing so  actually.  What  followed  you  know.  You 
will  never  electrocute  Jack  McQuillan,  and,  as  for 
me,  if  you  had  sentenced  me  to  a  term  in  prison  I 
would  have  submitted,  regarding  it  as  a  penance  for 
my  idle  past  and  as  a  preparation  for  my  future, 
which  I  here  and  now  consecrate  to  the  service  of 
those  whose  hearts  are  heavy-laden,  who  are  my 
brothers,  all  children  of  our  common  Father.  But  I 
repudiate  the  stigma  that  my  acts  were  but  the 
promptings  of  a  distorted  mind.  It  is  all  of  you 
who  are  mad,  not  I !  By  the  God  above  me,  I  am 
the  only  sane  man  in  an  insane  world !" 

"This  is  too  much,"  declared  the  Recorder,  losing 
his  patience;  "you  are  raving  now.  Officers,  see 
that  he  is  taken  to  the  asylum.  The  court  stands  ad- 
journed." 

The  attendants  of  the  sanitarium,  reinforced  by 
several  policemen,  advanced  to  obey  the  court's  di- 


252 

rections,  while  Gladys  and  Alicia  tearfully  pleaded 
with  Harold  to  quietly  submit;  but  he  violently 
pushed  the  men  away  from  him. 

"Back!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  shall  walk  out  of  this 
courtroom  a  free  man.  Who  dares  to  lay  a  hand  on 
me  will  receive  a  bullet  in  his  heart!  I  have  been 
declared  insane  and  may  even  murder  with  im- 
punity !"  As  he  spoke  he  drew  forth  a  revolver  and 
pointed  it  at  the  Recorder  himself. 


THE  NEW  HAROLD  253 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  NEW  HAROLD 

f  I  AVING  reduced  every  one  in  court  to  a  state 
*  *  of  abject  terror,  Harold,  still  brandishing  his 
weapon,  strode  hastily  out  of  the  room  and  into  the 
street.  As  he  passed  out  of  the  building  the  court 
officer  and  the  asylum  attendants  regained  their  lost 
courage  and  made  a  dash  after  him.  In  the  street 
were  two  equipages,  each  drawn  by  a  team  of  pow- 
erful horses.  One  was  the  regular  coach  from  the 
Flushing  Sanitarium,  a  sort  of  vehicle  resembling  a 
prison  van,  with  its  slatted  windows  and  door  brist- 
ling with  bolts  and  bars;  the  other  the  Armytage 
carriage  which  had  brought  Harold  and  Gladys  to 
court.  On  the  box  of  the  latter  sat  the  family  coach- 
man and  Sam,  Harold's  negro  valet  and  body- 
guard. 

Harold  lingered  at  the  entrance  to  the  court  to 


254       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

await  his  sister's  coming,  and,  also,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, to  get  another  glimpse  of  Agnes.  In  fact,  it 
was  his  intention  to  ask  the  latter  and  the  Soggarth 
Aroon  to  accompany  Gladys  and  him  to  their  home. 
That  lingering,  however,  was  fatal  to  his  plans. 
The  minions  of  the  law  and  of  the  asylum  came 
rushing  out  and,  noticing  that  he  had  lowered  his 
revolver,  sprang  on  him  in  a  bunch.  They  suc- 
ceeded in  disarming  him,  and  then  a  terrible  strug- 
gle ensued.  It  was  their  purpose  to  force  him  into 
the  sanitarium  coach.  Once  inside  of  that,  the  door 
would  be  clapped  shut  and  bolted  and  he  would  be 
completely  at  their  mercy. 

Harold  suspected  their  design  and  kicked  and 
struggled  and  fought  to  regain  his  liberty,  while 
Agnes  and  Gladys,  who  had  come  out  of  the  court- 
room together,  added  their  screams  and  tears  to  the 
general  uproar.  Alicia  would  have  joined  them,  but 
she  stood  apart,  pitying  Harold,  but  gnawing  her 
heart  out  with  insane  jealousy  as  she  saw  on  what 
friendly  terms  Gladys  and  Agnes  were. 

"If  she  should  prove  to  be  my  rival,"  she  whis- 
pered, "heaven  have  pity  on  her,  for  I  shall  have 
none."  . 


THE  NEW  HAROLD  255 

The  odds  against  Harold  were  overwhelming.  In 
spite  of  all  his  desperate  struggles  he  was  being 
dragged  nearer  and  nearer  the  asylum  vehicle.  Al- 
ready his  assailants  were  chortling  over  their  pros- 
pective triumph  when  he  called  out : 

"Help,  Sam!— help!" 

There  was  a  streak  of  black  humanity  in  the  air 
for  a  moment  as  the  colored  body-guard,  with  a 
bound,  leaped  from  the  box  of  the  Armytage  car- 
riage and  struck  the  pavement.  The  next  instant 
two  arms  with  muscles  on  them  like  those  of  a 
prize-fighter  sawed  the  air  in  all  directions,  while 
two  powerful  fists  kept  ramming  sledge-hammer 
blows  on  the  bodies,  heads  and  faces  of  the  police 
and  the  attendants.  It  was  all  over  in  a  few  sec- 
onds and  then  the  ground  was  piled  up  with  sorely 
wounded  men.  Some  had  been  put  to  sleep  with  a 
knock-out  blow;  others  were  nursing  broken  heads, 
fractured  noses  or  bloody  jaws.  Jack  McQuillan's 
giant  strength  which  he  had  deplored  had  proved  of 
good  service  in  this  case.  Grabbing  the  now  liber- 
ated Harold  around  the  waist,  he  fairly  lifted  him 
from  the  ground,  placed  him  in  the  family  carriage, 
slammed  the  door  shut,  then,  mounting  the  box, 


256        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

snatched  the  reins  from  the  coachman's  hands  and 
started  the  horses  off  at  a  gallop,  amid  the  wild 
plaudits  of  the  assembled  crowd. 

An  hour  later,  Harold,  showing  no  sign  of  the 
fracas  through  which  he  had  passed,  was  calmly 
sitting  in  his  library  puffing  a  cigar  and  conversing 
earnestly  with  Gladys,  Agnes  and  the  Soggarth 
Aroon,  who  had  arrived  in  a  public  conveyance.  He 
was  undisturbed  by  any  court  officer,  policeman  or 
asylum  official  the  rest  of  the  day,  and,  in  fact,  dur- 
ing any  day  thereafter ;  for  a  great  revulsion  of  opin- 
ion in  his  favor  had  taken  place.  His  bold  words  in 
court,  the  sentiments  he  had  uttered,  his  brave  fight 
for  liberty,  and  the  utter  rout  of  the  police,  were 
talked  about  wherever  men  congregated,  and  the 
papers  the  next  day  devoted  whole  pages  to  the 
startling  news.  Overnight  he  became  the  hero  of 
the  people,  the  demigod  of  the  workingman. 

The  papers,  quick  to  recognize  the  temper  of  the 
public,  advised  the  authorities  that  it  would  be  best 
to  leave  the  young  man  alone;  they  deplored  his 
eccentricities,  as  they  termed  them,  but  thought  that 
no  good  public  end  would  be  served  by  putting  him 
into  an  insane  asylum.  Any  effort  to  do  so  might 


THE  NEW  HAROLD  257 

lead  to  bloodshed  and  riot,  while,  if  he  was  simply 
ignored,  his  brief  popularity  would  be  dissipated  by 
the  next  unusual  occurrence  in  a  big  city  where  every 
day  brings  forth  the  unexpected.  That  this  was 
deemed  good  advice  was  evidenced  by  the  fact  that 
the  police  department  not  only  kept  their  clutches 
off  Harold,  but  also  called  in  the  sleuths  they  had 
put  on  the  trail  of  the  fugitive  Jack  McQuillan. 

The  laboring  classes — that  is,  the  great  majority 
of  the  population  of  New  York — made  Harold 
Armytage's  future  their  own.  The  very  next  night 
a  mass-meeting  at  the  plaza  in  Union  Square  was  at- 
tended by  thousands.  Fiery  orators  declaimed  that 
a  new  Moses  had  arisen  to  lead  the  enslaved  masses 
out  of  the  land  of  bondage  into  the  Canaan  which 
was  their  rightful  inheritance.  They  threatened  that 
the  least  move  made  by  the  authorities  to  deprive 
their  hero  of  his  liberty  would  be  met  by  an  uprising 
of  the  common  people  such  as  the  city  had  not  wit- 
nessed since  the  bloody  days  of  the  Riot  of  1863. 
They  urged  their  auditors  to  form  themselves  into 
a  political  body,  to  hold  a  mass-meeting  at  Cooper 
Union  and  to  formally  tender  the  nomination  for 
mayor  to  Harold  Armytage.  At  the  election  which 


258       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

was  to  take  place  the  following  month  he  would 
be  triumphantly  elected  over  the  candidates  of  both 
regular  parties,  and,  at  his  inauguration  on  Janu- 
ary ist  next,  the  millenium  for  the  laboring  classes 
would  dawn. 

Amid  the  wildest  hurrahs  and  a  hurricane  of  en- 
thusiasm this  advice  was  taken  by  the  crowd.  The 
Laboring  Man's  Party  was  organized  on  the  spot, 
and  a  committee  was  appointed  to  wait  on  Harold 
Armytage  to  inform  him  that  they  would  nominate 
him  for  mayor  and  to  request  him  to  deliver  an 
address  at  the  mass-meeting  held  by  his  adherents. 

Two  days  later  Harold  received  the  committee  at 
his  residence.  He  listened  to  the  address  of  the 
spokesman  and  could  not  forbear  a  thrill  of  pride 
at  the  evidence  of  good-will  and  appreciation  im- 
plied in  the  honor  tendered  to  him  by  the  people 
whose  champion  he  had  determined  to  become. 

Still,  he  considered  it  best  to  decline  the  civic 
crown  thus  offered  him. 

"If  I  refuse,"  he  said,  "to  become  your  candidate 
for  mayor,  it  is  not  because  I  do  not  fully  appre- 
ciate the  honor  sought  to  be  conferred  on  me,  nor 
because  I  have  any  fear  of  defeat  at  the  polls.  If 


THE  NEW  HAROLD  259 

the  laboring  classes  are  united,  as  you  say  they  are 
and  as  they  ought  to  be  in  the  protection  of  their 
own  interests  and  the  enforcement  of  their  undoubted 
rights,  no  merely  political  party  can  withstand  them. 
They  are  the  most  numerous  of  the  body  of  our 
citizens,  and  their  united  votes  are  sufficient  to  win 
the  victory  at  any  election." 

"And  yet,  recognizing  all  this,  you  still  decline 
to  run  for  mayor,  to  the  great  disappointment  of 
the  thousands  for  whom  we  speak?"  asked  the 
chairman  of  the  committee. 

"I  am  but  the  merest  neophyte  in  politics,"  re- 
plied Harold.  "If  elected  I  would  either  find  it  im- 
possible to  accomplish  your  desires  or  perhaps  be 
made  a  victim  of  political  tricksters,  who  would 
know  how  to  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes.  In  either 
case  the  disappointment  of  my  fellow-partisans 
would  be  greater  than  it  will  be  by  my  declining  to 
be  their  candidate.  I  think  well  of  your  going  into 
politics  and  will  support  the  movement,  both  moral- 
ly and  financially,  to  the  best  of  my  ability;  but  I 
beg  you  to  nominate  for  mayor  some  good  man  who 
knows  something-  of  practical  politics  and  who  has 


260        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

studied,  to  a  greater  extent  than  I  have,  the  political 
issues  involved  in  the  great  labor  question." 

"Must  we  so  report  to  the  mass-meeting?"  dis- 
appointedly asked  the  spokesman. 

"If  you  will  permit  me,"  said  Harold,  "I  will  go 
to  the  meeting  and  make  the  report  myself.  I  will 
tell  my  brothers  and  comrades  why  I  cannot  be  their 
candidate  and  will  outline  to  them  the  plan  for  my 
immediate  future,  which  I  have  determined  upon 
after  earnest  and  careful  consultation  with  the  good 
Soggarth  Aroon." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  That  night,  a  week 
later,  he  stood  on  the  platform  in  the  large  hall  in 
the  Cooper  Union,  and  waited,  apparently  in  vain, 
for  the  enthusiasm  of  the  thousands  there  assembled 
to  die  down  sufficiently  to  make  himself  heard. 
Again  and  again  he  waved  his  arms  for  silence  and 
attempted  to  speak,  but  his  voice  was  drowned  in 
the  tumultuous  shouts  of  the  multitude  hailing  him 
as  their  deliverer  and  emancipator  from  industrial 
slavery.  It  was  an  ovation  of  which  any  man  might 
well  be  proud,  and  his  manly  bosom  heaved  with 
strong  emotion  and  tears  came  to  his  eyes  as  he  felt 
that  already  he  was  sufficiently  rewarded  for  any- 


THE  NEW  HAROLD  261 

thing  he  might  do  in  the  future  to  open  the  door  of 
opportunity  to  those  now  vainly  beating  there  for 
entrance. 

The  Soggarth  Aroon,  seated  in  an  arm-chair, 
shared  his  emotion ;  for  these  people  were  his  people, 
his  flock  who  had  followed  him  out  of  the  church  at 
whose  altar  he  was  no  longer  permitted  to  minis- 
trate,  and  who  gathered  there  every  Sunday  evening 
to  listen  to  the  living  truth  as  it  issued  from  his  lips. 
He,  too,  received  a  similar  ovation  every  Sabbath, 
and  he  was  glad  that  the  plaudits  should  ring  forth 
for  one  whom  he  considered  his  dearest  and  best 
beloved  disciple. 

"My  friends,  my  brothers,"  began  Harold,  as 
soon  as  he  could  obtain  even  partial  quiet,  "this 
reception  is  indeed  flattering  to  me,  yet  I  value  it 
more  highly  because  I  take  it  to  be  an  expression  of 
faith  and  hope  in  the  great  cause  of  industrial  eman- 
cipation, which  inspires  our  words  and  actions." 

In  clear,  ringing  tones  which  made  themselves 
heard  throughout  the  vast  hall,  he  went  on  with  his 
speech.  There  were  some  groans  of  disappointment 
and  violent  protestations  as  he  gave  his  reasons  why 
he  could  not  accept  their  nomination  for  mayor,  but 


262        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

his  cogent  arguments  soon  won  over  the  objectors, 
and  thereafter  he  was  listened  to  with  rapt  attention, 
broken  only  by  prolonged  applause  at  the  end  of 
some  period  marked  by  the  eloquence  of  earnestness 
and  conviction. 

He  spoke  for  almost  an  hour,  covering  nearly 
every  phase  of  the  labor  question  and  showing  that 
the  root  of  the  evil  was  in  the  relation  of  employer 
and  employee.  He  declared  that  no  man  was  justly 
entitled  to  a  larger  share  of  the  profits  of  a  business 
than  he  earned,  and  no  man  should  be  satisfied  with 
less. 

"I  will  give  an  example  to  the  world."  he  said, 
as  he  concluded,  "of  a  business  without  a  boss,  where 
every  one,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  are  part- 
ners, each  one  receiving  the  full  share  of  the  value 
of  his  labor,  where  co-operation  shall  take  the  place 
of  compulsion,  and  industrial  slavery  be  unknown. 
To  bring  this  plan  to  a  successful  fruition  I  dedicate 
to  it  the  millions  I  possess,  and  every  fiber  of  my 
body  and  every  power  of  my  brain.  I  call  upon  you 
to  give  three  cheers  and  a  tiger  for  the  Armytage 
Co-operative  Printing  Press  Company!" 

Then  bedlam  was  let  loose! 


A  MARRIAGE  IN  SOCIETY          263 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A   MARRIAGE  IN   SOCIETY 

IT  AROLD  lost  no  time  in  setting  his  project  into 
*  *  operation.  At  the  very  outset  he  realized 
that  the  present  works  would  be  unavailable  for  an 
establishment  such  as  he  had  in  view.  He  pro- 
posed first  of  all  to  call  back  the  strikers  and  make 
them  his  partners.  This  he  knew  would  be  extreme- 
ly distasteful  to  Silas  Chubb,  the  present  manager, 
who  would,  for  other  reasons  as  well,  not  care  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  a  scheme  he  immediately 
stigmatized  as  revolutionary,  socialistic  and  anar- 
chistic. Harold,  on  his  side,  was  perfectly  willing 
to  dispense  with  his  services,  as  also  with  the  services 
of  the  "scabs"  who  had  taken  the  strikers'  places. 
He  considered  that  the  best  plan  would  be  to  sell  the 
works  and  build  new  ones  with  his  share  of  the 
money  so  realized. 


264        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

There  was  an  added  reason  why  he  determined  to 
do  this,  and  that  was  to  hand  over  her  inheritance 
to  Gladys  on  her  wedding  day.  He  felt  he  had  no 
right  to  risk  her  money  as  well  as  his  own  in  the 
undertaking,  and,  besides,  he  knew  that  the  Marquis 
de  Belle-Riviere  expected  his  bride  to  come  to  him 
with  her  full  dowry.  On  mentioning  this  matter  to 
Gladys  he  discovered  that  she  had  similar  views.  She 
did  not  try  to  dissuade  him  from  making  an  attempt 
which  must  have  appeared  to  her  as  more  or  less 
visionary,  and  she  sincerely  wished  for  its  success; 
but  she  gave  him  to  understand  that  she,  too,  had 
plans  which  she  had  talked  over  with  her  future  hus- 
band. She  would  devote  her  inheritance  to  the  re- 
construction of  the  Belle-Riviere  chateau  on  the 
Rhone  and  the  hotel  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain, 
and  as  the  wedding  was  fixed  for  the  beginning  of 
November,  scarcely  a  fortnight  hence,  she  hoped  that 
Harold  would  by  that  time  have  found  a  purchaser 
for  the  works  able  and  ready  to  pay  the  price  in 
cash. 

At  a  moderate  valuation  the  works  and  good-will 
of  the  business  were  worth  four  million  dollars. 
Where  would  he  find  an  individual  or  a  corporation 


A  MARRIAGE  IN  SOCIETY          265 

with  that  amount  of  funds  available  for  such  a  large 
transaction  ?  In  this  dilemma  Harold  was  extremely 
gratified  when  Silas  Chubb  came  forward  and  an- 
nounced that  he  would  find  the  man  and  the  money 
within  twenty-four  hours. 

"It's  dirt  cheap  at  the  price,"  he  said,  in  his  oily 
way.  "I  can  form  a  corporation  to  buy  you  out  in 
twenty-four  hours,  and  I  should  be  expected  to  be 
elected  president  of  such  a  corporation.  Of  course, 
it  would  be  even  more  valuable  to  us  if  you  would 
take  your  money  as  your  sister  will  take  hers,  and 
spend  it  abroad  on  your  own  pleasure  in  steam 
yachts,  fine  pictures,  or  anything  you  please  except 
to  found  this  co-operative  establishment.  There  will 
be  two  manufactories  where  now  there  is  only  one, 
and  we  will  necessarily  compete  with  each  other. 
But,  then,"  he  added  with  a  sly  chuckle,  "competi- 
tion is  the  life  of  trade.  You  are  not  afraid,  my  boy, 
of  meeting  us  on  the  same  field?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  Harold  assured  him.  "It  will, 
in  fact,  be  an  excellent  test.  You  with  your  old- 
style  way  of  doing  business  and  I  and  my  co-laborers 
working  according  to  the  new  method.  I  ask  but  a 
fair  field  and  no  favor,  and  may  the  fittest  survive/' 


266       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"Amen  to  that,"  declared  Silas. 

And  so  it  was  settled. 

The  very  next  day  the  United  States  Printing 
Press  Company  was  organized  in  Wall  Street  with 
a  capitalization  of  thirty  millions,  divided  equally 
between  preferred  and  common  stock.  In  the  pros- 
pectus issued  to  prospective  stockholders  it  was  stated 
that  the  object  of  the  corporation  was  to  purchase 
the  Armytage  Printing  Press  Works  and  to  buy  a 
majority  of  the  stock  of  other  printing  press  compa- 
nies, of  which  it  would  be  a  sort  of  holding  com- 
pany. In  plain  words,  it  was  to  form  a  printing  press 
trust,  though  at  that  time  the  trust  idea  was  only 
beginning  to  spread  out  its  tentacles  in  the  commer- 
cial world  and  was  not  yet  called  by  that  name. 
Nevertheless,  the  gigantic  economic  combat  about 
to  be  instituted  with  millions  at  stake  was  between 
the  trust  principle  and  the  co-operative  principle,  by 
whatever  name  it  was  called. 

It  took  some  time  for  both  Harold  and  Mr.  Chubb 
to  formulate  their  respective  plans  and  to  have  all 
the  legal  technicalities  attended  to,  with  the  result 
that  Gladys'  wedding  eve  had  come  when  Harold  re- 


A  MARRIAGE  IN  SOCIETY          267 

ceived  two  checks  of  two  million  dollars  each,  one  for 
himself  and  one  for  his  sister.  He  handed  Gladys' 
check  to  her  with  a  fraternal  kiss  and  a  wish  for  her 
and  the  Marquis'  future  happiness.  She  endorsed 
it  and  at  once  passed  it  over  to  the  Marquis,  who, 
with  Mrs.  Van,  was  present  on  this  interesting  occa- 
sion. The  Frenchman,  with  a  thousand  protesta- 
tions against  this  act  of  generous  self-abnegation, 
pocketed  the  check  with  an  almost  audible  sigh  of 
satisfaction,  while  Mrs.  Van's  eyes  gloated  as  she 
mentally  figured  out  how  much  five  per  cent,  of 
two  million  dollars  would  amount  to. 

Ring  out  the  joy-bells,  for  this  is  Gladys'  wedding- 
morn! 

A  bright  sun  rose  in  a  cloudless  sky,  a  harbinger 
of  the  sunshine  that  was  to  flood  the  glad  November 
day.  Happy  is  the  bride  that  the  sun  shines  on,  so 
runs  the  old  adage,  and  if  it  is  a  superstition,  Gladys 
hugged  it  to  her  heart  as  she  rose  at  an  early  hour 
from  her  couch  and  ran  to  the  window  to  gaze  at 
the  orb  of  day. 

"I  will  be  happy — I  will  be  happy !"  she  kept  mur- 
muring to  herself,  as  if  the  repetition  of  the  words 


268        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

would  realize  the  wish  in  her  heart.  "I  have  all  that 
a  girl  can  crave — youth,  beauty,  fortune,  a  lover  who 
lays  at  my  feet  the  keys  of  his  ancestral  domain, 
who  will  make  me  a  Marquise  to-day  and  a  Duchess 
hereafter,  and  who  crowns  me  with  the  glory  of  the 
name  of  Belle-Riviere.  I  have  all — save  love.  Oh, 
why  is  it,"  she  cried,  springing  to  her  feet  from  the 
ottoman  on  which  she  had  been  sitting,  "that  I  have 
no  love  to  give  him  in  return?  He  is  manly;  he 
is  handsome  as  men  go ;  he  is  far  superior  in  culture 
and  refinement  to  the  average  American;  he  is  a 
man  of  the  world  in  the  best  sense  of  that  term,  and 
yet  I  do  not  feel  my  heart  thrill  at  a  glance  of  his 
eye  or  the  touch  of  his  hand." 

She  remained  sunk  in  deep  reflection  for  some 
moments,  then  communed  again  aloud  with  her 
thoughts : 

"Perhaps  I  am  mistaken  in  my  ideas  of  love,  ideas 
imbibed  from  what  I  have  read  of  'the  master  pas- 
sion' and  from  what  my  girl  friends  have  told  me. 
It  may  be  to  some  a  seething  whirlwind  of  bliss ;  to 
others  like  the  gentle  dew  which  bathes  and  beau- 
tifies a  flower,  yet  leaves  its  petals  calm  and  un- 
ruffled. If  to  like  a  man  is  to  love  him,  then  I  can 


A  MARRIAGE  IN  SOCIETY  269 

honestly  proclaim  at  the  altar  to-day  that  I  love 
Etienne.  Perhaps  that  is  all  my  nature  is  capable  of. 
God  grant  that  it  is  so;  God  grant  that  I  may  never 
live  to  see  the  day  when  I  shall  feel  that  I  have  bar- 
tered myself  and  my  fortune  for  rank  and  title!" 

With  an  effort  she  put  these  conflicting  thoughts 
out  of  her  mind  and  rang  for  her  maid  to  begin  her 
bridal  toilet. 

The  wedding  was  set,  according  to  canonical  de- 
cree, at  high  noon  and  was  to  be  celebrated  at  Grace 
Church,  then  the  most  fashionable  in  the  city.  Invi- 
tations had  been  spread  broadcast  among  Gladys' 
friends  and  acquaintances  in  society.  The  bride  felt 
that  this  was  due  to  the  honor  of  the  families  of 
Armytage  and  DePeyster  from  which  she  was  de- 
scended. The  invitations  were  eagerly  accepted  by 
those  who  received  them,  for  it  was  not  given  to 
them  every  day  to  witness  a  real  live  Marquis 
espouse  a  fair  daughter  of  Columbia.  Etienne  had 
only  a  few  friends  of  his  own  from  the  French 
quarter  to  invite;  none  of  his  titled  acquaintances 
abroad  crossed  the  ocean  to  be  present  at  the  cere- 
mony. 

The  church  was  crowded  when  the  hour  for  the 


270       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

marriage  struck,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  toward  the 
entrance  as  the  bridal  procession  walked  up  the  center 
aisle  to  the  strains  of  Mendelssohn's  Wedding 
March  played  on  the  organ.  Mr.  Silas  Chubb  and 
Mrs.  Chubb,  as  the  oldest  friends  of  the  family, 
headed  the  march ;  next  came  Mrs.  Van  Courtlandt 
DePeyster,  walking  alone,  as  the  matron  of  honor; 
and  then  the  bride,  leaning  on  her  brother's  arm. 

Like  a  queen  by  right  of  royal  birth,  Gladys 
walked  proudly  and  with  a  firm  step  up  the  aisle 
to  the  altar.  Having  fought  the  battle  in  her  heart 
that  morning  in  her  room,  there  was  no  faltering 
now.  Regally  magnificent  she  looked,  her  tall,  sup- 
ple form  clad  in  white  satin,  the  long  train  of  which 
was  upheld  by  two  young  lads  attired  as  pages.  A 
wealth  of  diamonds  glittered  on  bosom  and  neck,  and 
a  tiara  of  purest  gems  fastened  to  her  head  the  bridal 
veil  of  priceless  lace,  which  she  disdained  to  have 
cover  her  countenance.  The  spectators  noticed  how 
gloriously  beautiful  she  looked  in  spite  of  the  pallor 
of  her  face. 

Following  them  came  the  two  bridesmaids.  Alicia 
had  solicited  the  honor ;  it  had  been  thrust  on  Agnes 
by  Harold's  express  wish  and  Gladys'  almost  posi- 


A  MARRIAGE  IN  SOCIETY          271 

tive  demand.  In  vain  the  young  girl  protested  that 
she  had  forever  bid  farewell  to  scenes  of  festive 
gayety  and  that  she  had  no  clothes  fit  for  the  occa- 
sion. Both  objections  were  overruled,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  submit.  When  Alicia  heard  who  her  com- 
panion was  to  be  she  felt  like  surrendering  the  posi- 
tion she  had  craved,  but  she  was  afraid  to  create  a 
scene  and  determined  to  render  her  fellow  bridesmaid 
insignificant  by  the  gorgeousness  of  her  attire,  which 
was  second  in  brilliancy  and  cost  to  that  of  the 
bride  alone.  Agnes  was  clad  in  simple  pink,  with 
not  a  jewel  on  her  person,  but  those  who  saw  her 
were  ready  to  declare  that  her  ethereal  style  of 
beauty  needed  no  other  adornment.  To  Harold, 
who  had  seen  her  hitherto  only  in  black,  the  change 
in  her  appearance  seemed  marvelous.  In  his  eyes 
she  looked  more  than  ever  like  an  angel. 

At  the  chancel  the  groom  stepped  forth  from  the 
vestry,  accompanied  by  two  friends,  to  receive  the 
bride.  Attired  in  conventional  morning  dress,  the 
Marquis  bore  himself  as  befitted  his  noble  house  and 
the  dignity  of  the  occasion.  If  looks  went  for  any- 
thing the  two  were  a  well-matched  couple. 

The  bishop  himself  officiated  at  the  ceremony;  the 


272        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

responses  were  given  by  both  the  bride  and  groom  in 
a  clear,  loud  voice,  and,  before  many  minutes  had 
elapsed,  the  two  were  solemnly  declared  man  and 
wife. 

To  the  strains  of  the  bridal  chorus  in  Lohengrin 
the  procession  made  its  way  down  the  aisle,  Gladys 
now  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  while  Harold 
gallantly  escorted  Mrs.  Van.  At  the  church  door 
they  were  overwhelmed  by  the  congratulations  of 
their  friends,  until  they  were  hurried  away  to  the 
Armytage  residence,  where  a  sumptuous  wedding 
breakfast  awaited  the  guests.  After  the  reception, 
Gladys  made  a  hasty  change  from  her  bridal  finery 
to  a  traveling  costume. 

The  Marquis  and  Marquise  de  Belle-Riviere  left 
by  the  steamer  that  sailed  at  four  that  afternoon  for 
the  shores  of  la  belle  France. 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  273 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  DECLARATION  OF  A  NEW  INDEPENDENCE 

'"THE  day  after  Gladys'  wedding  two  events  of 
*  prime  importance  took  place.  The  first  was 
the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  the  edifice  which 
was  to  be  the  home  of  the  Armytage  Co-operative 
Printing  Press  Company,  and  the  second,  the  hold- 
ing of  the  mayoralty  election  in  the  city  of  New 
York.  The  first  was  to  typify  the  dawn  of  emanci- 
pation from  industrial  slavery,  the  second,  the  rend- 
ing of  the  shackles  of  political  serfdom  which  the 
citizens  of  the  great  city  had  themselves  bound 
around  their  necks  by  abject  subservience  to  boss 
rule  and  by  the  election  of  unworthy  candidates  to 
public  office. 

Harold  had  called  a  meeting  of  all  his  former  em- 
ployees and  had  laid  before  them  his  plans  and 
purposes  and  received  their  unanimous  approval.  A 


274 

large  plot  of  ground  had  been  purchased  in  the 
suburbs  of  the  city,  north  of  the  Harlem  River,  on 
which  were  to  be  erected  one  or  more  factory  build- 
ings, surrounded  by  small  parks.  The  rest  of  the 
available  space  was  to  be  devoted  to  the  building  of 
homes  for  the  workingmen.  With  plenty  of  fresh 
air,  and  amid  the  delightful  scenes  of  the  country, 
the  men  would  work  and  their  families  live  in  a 
better,  purer  physical  and  moral  atmosphere  than 
when  pent  up  in  the  congested  districts  of  the  city. 
One  building  was  to  be  erected  first,  and  addi- 
tions were  to  be  made  as  the  business  increased  and 
expanded.  This  building  was  to  be  a  model  factory 
in  every  sense  of  the  word.  The  health  and  com- 
fort of  the  workingmen  were  to  be  the  first  con- 
sideration; every  labor-saving  appliance  was  to  be 
made  use  of,  for  as  the  men  were  to  share  in  the 
profits,  it  was  no  hardship,  but  a  benefit  to  them,  to 
have  as  much  of  the  actual  hard  labor  as  possible 
performed  by  machinery.  The  hours  of  work  were 
to  be  regulated  by  the  character  of  the  employment 
rather  than  the  endurance  of  the  men.  For  those 
working  in  the  open  air  and  at  easy  manual  labor 
and  congenial  tasks,  eight  hours  would  be  assigned 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  275 

as  a  day's  work,  and  these  hours  would  be  shortened 
as  the  work  grew  harder,  more  confining  or  neces- 
sarily done  in  the  blast-room  of  the  foundry.  It 
was  deemed  sufficient  for  a  man  to  work  in  the 
foundry  from  seven  to  ten  in  the  morning,  then  rest 
until  three  in  the  afternoon  and  work  from  that 
time  till  six. 

Besides  these  essential  features,  the  factory  was 
to  contain  many  of  the  comforts  and  conveniences 
which  had  been  instituted  by  the  elder  Army- 
tage  in  his  works — baths  and  free  medical  at- 
tendance, a  school  of  technology,  and  lectures  on 
subjects  of  interest  not  only  to  the  workingmen 
themselves,  but  also  to  their  families.  For  this 
purpose  the  entire  upper  floor  of  the  factory  was  to 
be  fitted  up  as  an  assembly-room,  with  a  well-ap- 
pointed stage,  on  which  occasional  dramatic  per- 
formances and  concerts  could  be  given  for  the 
amusement  and  entertainment  of  all. 

Such  in  brief  was  an  outline  of  Harold's  plan  for 
making  work  what  it  should  be — a  pleasure  and  a 
blessing,  instead  of  the  curse  it  is.  Many  of  the  de- 
tails were  suggested  by  the  Soggarth  Aroon  and 
Agnes,  who,  with  Harold,  formed  a  sort  of  advisory 


276        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

committee.  The  young  man  had  indeed  rather 
peremptorily  appointed  Agnes  his  private  secretary 
and  had  convinced  her,  who  was  only  too  willing 
to  be  convinced,  that  this,  too,  was  a  sacred  mission 
for  her.  By  removing  the  scene  of  her  activities 
from  the  slums  to  the  community  of  two  thousand 
souls,  which  would  spring  up  as  an  environment  to 
the  factory,  she  would  be  extending  and  widening 
the  sphere  of  her  moral  influence.  The  Rev.  Mr. 
Messenger  himself  advised  her  to  accept  the  posi- 
tion, even  though  it  would  oblige  her  to  take  up  her 
quarters  elsewhere,  and  would  restrict  her  visits  to 
the  rescue  home.  The  generous  salary  Harold 
forced  on  her  enabled  her  to  secure  comfortable 
board  and  lodging  in  a  private  family  uptown,  and 
every  morning  at  nine  she  reported  promptly  for 
work  at  the  office  which  Harold  had  established  in 
the  rear  parlor  of  the  Armytage  residence. 

He  was  a  very  busy  man,  with  all  his  planning 
and  making  speeches  in  the  campaign  then  waging 
hotly  throughout  the  city,  and,  as  Agnes  was  an 
expert  stenographer  and  typewriter,  he  found  plenty 
of  work  for  her  to  do.  So  much  so,  that  often  he 
declared  he  could  not  spare  her  to  return  to  her 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  277 

residence  for  her  noon-day  meal;  instead  he  would 
order  up  a  luncheon  for  two,  which  they  would  par- 
take of  in  the  private  intimacy  of  the  office ;  and  then 
they  would  again  take  up  their  work,  which  had  be- 
come to  both  a  labor  of  love  in  more  senses  than  they 
themselves  suspected. 

Thus  time,  fleeting  for  them  on  the  gayest  of 
wings,  brought  Gladys'  wedding  day  and,  on  the 
morrow  after,  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone. 
Harold  considered  it  an  auspicious  circumstance 
that  it  was  set  on  the  election  day,  which  was  to  be 
of  equal  if  not  greater  importance  than  his  own 
undertaking.  The  two  events  were,  in  fact,  differ- 
ent views  of  the  same  great  object-lesson  to  be  pre- 
sented not  only  to  this  city  and  country,  but  to  the 
whole  world.  He  determined  to  make  the  most  of 
it.  A  platform  had  been  erected  on  the  grounds, 
a  band  of  music  engaged,  prominent  speakers  in- 
vited to  deliver  addresses,  and  a  collation  was  to  be 
served  in  a  tent.  The  Soggarth  Aroon  was  to  in- 
voke the  Divine  blessing  on  the  undertaking,  and 
to  Agnes  was  accorded  the  honor  of  tapping  the 
stone  with  a  silver  trowel.  The  newspapers  treated 
the  event  as  only  second  in  importance  to  the  elec- 


278       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

tion  itself;  they  urged  their  readers  to  vote  first 
and  then  to  take  part  in  the  exercises  of  laying  the 
corner-stone  for  an  enterprise  which,  if  successful, 
would  revolutionize  the  entire  business  methods  of 
the  world.  They  no  longer  spoke  sneeringly  of 
Harold,  or  intimated  that  he  was  still  laboring  under 
abnormal  illusions.  Some  of  the  papers  even  went 
so  far  as  to  promise  to  purchase  the  first  of  his 
presses  as  soon  as  completed.  It  was  a  time  when 
almost  every  paper  was  building  for  itself  a  huge 
edifice  surmounted  by  a  tall  tower ;  circulations  were 
expanding,  and  new  presses  of  greater  speed  than 
those  in  use  were  a  matter  of  prime  necessity. 

Only  one  person  in  all  the  city  looked  on  Harold's 
activities  with  an  indulgent  smile,  such  as  we  bestow 
on  a  child  reaching  out  his  little  hand  to  grasp  the 
moon.  And  that  was  Mr.  Silas  Chubb.  He  shook 
his  head,  wisely,  but  gave  no  utterance  to  his 
thoughts,  not  even  to  his  co-directors  in  the  United 
States  Printing  Press  Company.  He  himself  stayed 
away  from  the  exercises  and  positively  forbade 
Alicia  to  attend,  telling  her  that  it  would  be  in- 
decent for  any  one  of  his  family  to  participate  in 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  279 

the  founding  of  an  establishment  which  was  bound 
to  be  a  competitor  and  rival  to  the  corporation  of 
which  he  was  president. 

Alicia  was  bound  to  submit  under  threat  that  dis- 
obedience in  this  instance  would  be  followed  by  the 
cutting  off  of  her  allowance.  She  was  ready  to  eat 
her  heart  out  with  rage  when  she  read  in  the  papers 
the  next  day  the  prominent  part  Agnes  had  taken 
in  the  exercises.  Had  she  been  present,  she  would 
doubtless  have  been  given  the  silver  trowel  to  wield 
and  would  have  cherished  it  as  a  priceless  souvenir. 
She  raged  at  her  father,  at  her  wealth,  at  her  social 
standing,  which  made  it  dishonorable  to  do  any  kind 
of  work.  She  wished  that  she  had  been  poor  like 
Agnes;  she  would  then  have  been  Harold's  private 
secretary,  as  Agnes  was,  and  she,  not  Agnes,  would 
have  had  the  sweet  privilege  of  spending  hours  in 
his  company  every  day.  And  so  she  raged  and 
fumed  all  day,  and  made  everybody  about  her,  her- 
self included,  wretched  and  unhappy,  and  ever  the 
burden  of  her  bitter  thoughts  was  Agnes — Agnes. 

Though  in  November,  the  day  was  bright  and 
pleasant  and  it  was  no  hardship  to  be  out  of  doors. 
An  audience  that  numbered  over  a  thousand  per- 


280        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

sons,  was  gathered  at  the  appointed  hour  of  two  in 
the  afternoon  around  the  stand,  listening  to  the 
patriotic  airs  with  which  the  band  opened  the  pro- 
ceedings. Then  came  the  invocation  of  the  Sog- 
garth  Aroon,  followed  by  a  number  of  prominent 
speakers  on  the  subjects  of  "Industrial  Slavery," 
"Capital  and  Labor,"  and  "Co-operation."  Agnes, 
at  a  signal  from  Harold,  next  stepped  forward  and 
blushingly  acknowledged  the  rounds  of  applause 
with  which  she  was  welcomed.  With  the  miniature 
silver  trowel  she  tapped  the  stone  suspended  near 
her  from  a  crane  and  declared  that  it  was  "square 
and  on  the  level."  The  stone  was  then  lowered  into 
the  excavation  which  had  been  dug  to  receive  it,  and 
handy  artisans,  with  mortar  and  trowels,  soon  com- 
pleted the  work  assigned  to  them. 

After  the  band  had  played  a  lively  tune,  Harold 
stepped  forward  and  received  the  ovation  which 
had  become  the  customary  greeting  extended  to  him 
on  his  public  appearances. 

"Fellow  laborers,"  he  said,  when  finally  he  could 
make  himself  heard,  "the  simple  act  of  laying  the 
corner-stone  of  a  building  which  you  have  witnessed 
here  to-day  is  an  epoch-making  act,  the  benign  in- 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  281 

fluence  of  which  will  spread,  like  waves  of  the  ocean, 
in  ever-increasing  circles  until  it  encompasses  the 
whole  earth,  enfolding  all  humanity  in  one  em- 
brace— the  embrace  of  fraternal  love." 

A  round  of  applause  greeted  this  expression  of 
sentiment,  and  then  he  continued  to  give  in  detail 
the  plans  we  have  already  outlined. 

"We  believe,"  he  added,  "and  we  are  warranted 
in  our  belief  by  the  experience  of  co-operative  un- 
dertakings in  Europe,  and  especially  in  England  and 
France,  that  in  spite  of  the  fact,  or,  I  should  rather 
say,  because  of  the  fact,  that  there  will  be  no  boss  to 
command  and  no  industrial  slaves  to  abjectly  obey, 
that  love  for  the  work  will  replace  fear  of  dismissal ; 
that  hours  will  be  less  and  each  man's  distributive 
share  of  the  profits  greater  than  his  ordinary  wages 
— I  say  that,  in  spite  of,  or  by  reason  of,  all  these 
things,  the  Armytage  Co-operative  Printing  Press 
Company  will  put  on  the  market  a  better  press  and 
sell  it  at  a  cheaper  price  than  the  Armytage  Works 
ever  did.  We  hope  to  have  the  building  constructed 
in  six  months,  and  the  first  presses  ready  for  sale 
and  delivery  three  months  later.  During  this  time 
of  necessary  waiting  all  the  men  who  are  co-operating 


282        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

in  this  undertaking-  can  draw  on  the  treasury  for 
such  sums  as  will  meet  their  wants,  to  be  accounted 
for  when  the  first  profits  are  distributed." 

It  is  needless  to  state  that  the  offer  was  accepted 
with  unbounded  applause  by  the  listeners,  who  had 
never  before  heard  of  a  workingman  being-  paid 
waiting  time. 

"We  will  now  close,"  concluded  Harold,  "with 
the  benediction  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Messenger  and  the 
singing  of  the  'Star  Spangled  Banner.' '  Every 
head  was  uncovered  while  the  clergyman  uttered  the 
benediction,  and  then  the  national  anthem  was  sung 
with  a  fervor  never  before  heard. 

It  seemed  like  the  declaration  of  a  new  inde- 
pendence. 


DRIVEN  TO  HER  DOOM  283 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

DRIVEN  TO  HER  DOOM 

'T*  HAT  same  night,  when  the  election  returns  were 
*  canvassed,  it  was  discovered  that  the  entire 
ticket  of  the  Laboring  Man's  Party  had  been  over- 
whelmingly defeated.  In  spite  of  the  crowds  and 
the  enthusiasm  at  their  mass-meetings,  in  spite  of 
the  orators'  earnest  pleas  to  the  workingmen  to  stick 
together,  in  spite  of  the  heroic  work  done  by  Harold 
Arrnytage  and  the  lavish  expenditure  of  his  money, 
the  candidates  for  mayor  and  for  all  the  other  offices 
were  buried  beneath  an  avalanche  of  adverse  votes. 
Once  again  it  was  shown  that  the  common  people 
could  not  be  made  to  unite  politically  for  their  com- 
mon interests,  and  that  they  would  persist  in  split- 
ting their  votes  and  their  strength  between  the  two 
regular  parties,  to  their  common  undoing. 

It  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  Harold  when  the 


284       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

news  of  the  rout  was  brought  to  him.  He  had  noth- 
ing to  gain  personally  by  the  election,  but  he  had 
hoped  that  the  returns  would  show  that  the  people 
had  awakened  to  a  sense  of  their  own  power. 

"The  time  is  not  yet  ripe,"  he  said  to  the  Sog- 
garth  Aroon,  who  was  present  at  his  residence  and 
condoled  with  him.  "It  will  need  years  and  years 
of  agitation  and  education  to  impress  upon  the 
masses  the  lesson  that  no  one  can  help  them  unless 
they  help  themselves.  Let  us  hope  that  the  object 
lesson  I  am  giving  will  be  more  readily  understood 
by  them.  They  are  indeed  lost  if  they  are  as  blind 
to  economic  truths  as  they  seem  to  be  to  their  politi- 
cal rights." 

"We  must  not  despair,"  consoled  the  good  father, 
"but  keep  on  preaching  the  truth  that  is  in  us  until 
it  is  triumphant.  Justice  and  Right  may  lose  bat- 
tles, but  must  in  the  end  win  the  war  for  those  on 
whose  side  they  were  enlisted." 

Equally  disappointed,  if  not  absolutely  disgusted 
with  the  result  of  the  election,  was  Mike  Dempsey, 
the  district  leader  and  head  of  the  clan  of  the  Jack- 
sonians.  He  had  done  yeoman  service  for  "the 
organization"  during  the  day.  He  and  his  lieuten- 


DRIVEN  TO  HER  DOOM  285 

ants  had  slugged  and  sandbagged  more  citizens  who 
came  to  the  polls  to  vote  the  labor  ticket  than  they 
had  ever  done  at  any  previous  election.  He  and 
his  gang  had  spread  such  a  reign  of  terror  through 
the  district  that  hundreds  of  voters  had  actually  been 
afraid  to  approach  the  polls,  preferring  a  lost  vote 
to  a  broken  head  or  a  fractured  jaw.  He  had  in- 
deed carried  his  district  by  a  large  plurality,  but 
the  vote  here,  as  well  as  in  other  downtown  dis- 
tricts, had  been  swamped  by  the  tremendous  plurali- 
ties of  the  uptown  wards. 

He  was  voicing  his  disgust  to  a  coterie  of  his 
cronies,  as,  with  a  glass  of  whiskey  in  his  hand,  he 
stood  leaning  against  the  railing  of  the  bar  in  his 
favorite  saloon. 

"Say,  wouldn't  it  give  yer  a  pain  in  ther  side  ?"  he 
said,  after  gulping  down  the  fiery  liquid  and  refilling 
the  glass  from  the  black  bottle  at  his  elbow.  "Dis 
thoid  party  movement  jest  makes  me  sick.  Wot  did 
dey  gain  by  it,  'cept  puttin'  out  of  office  deir  own  best 
friends  an'  puttin'  in  a  lot  of  silk-stockin's  an'  rep- 
resentatives of  Wall  Street  wot  don't  know  nawthin' 
an'  don't  want  to  know  nawthin'  about  deir  inter- 
ests. Say,  d'ye  s'pose  dem  Fifth  Avenoo  dudes'll 


286       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

come  down  here  to  bail  a  man  out  when  he  gits 
pinched,  or  hold  up  a  dispossess  when  he  ain't  got 
no  money  fer  ter  pay  ther  rent,  or  put  him  on  ther 
big  pipes  if  he's  out  of  work,  or  get  him  half  a  ton 
of  coal  when  he's  freezin'  ?  Of  all  ther  chumps,  the 
workin'man's  ther  woist  ter  go  and  cut  der  t'roat 
of  his  best  friends  like  dis !  If  deir  leaders  had  gone 
to  see  der  'old  man'  an'  asked  for  an  alderman  or 
two,  or  for  an  assemblyman,  or  for  some  nice  plum 
fur  demselves,  he'd  'a'  fixed  it  all  right,  all  right. 
No;  dey  wants  der  hull  earth  wid  a  garden  'round 
it — dey  must  have  der  mayor  an'  all  der  odder  of- 
fices, an'  what  does  dey  git?" 

He  left  his  hearers  to  suggest  the  answer  while  he 
took  another  drink. 

"Say,  cullies,"  he  then  continued,  "dis  'lection 
knocks  me  out  fur  good  an'  all.  Even  if  I  did  carry 
me  districk,  I'm  not  in  it  any  more.  I  couldn't  get 
yer  a  job  as  a  dorg-catcher  ef  I  wuz  ter  go  down 
on  me  knees  fur  it.  I  know  how  it  is  in  politics. 
I'll  be  trun  down  in  all  de  departments.  I  never 
had  no  show  wid  de  mayor,  anyhow.  He  allus  put 
on  a  bluff  fur  form's  sake,  yer  know,  and  de  odder 
blokes  wot  runs  de  departments  '11  now  go  in  fur  what 


DRIVEN  TO  HER  DOOM  287 

dey  calls  retrenchment  an'  reform,  so's  ter  keep  deir 
bloomin'  necks  from  der  axe  when  der  new  admin- 
istration comes  in.  Mike  Dempsey,"  he  added,  with 
a  peculiar  sort  of  political  pride,  "has  never  asked 
a  favor  in  his  life ;  he's  allus  demanded  it.  I'm  done 
wid  politics." 

"What'll  yer  do  fur  a  livin',  Mike?"  interestedly 
asked  one  of  his  hearers. 

"I've  got  a  little  pile  laid  aside,"  vouchsafed  the 
leader;  "not  much,  fur  I've  been  liberal  wid  der 
gang,  yer  know,  an'  blew  in  me  dough  like  a  gen- 
tleman; but  I've  got  enough  fur  a  starter.  I'm 
t'inkin'  of  openin'  up  a  dance-hall.  I  know  a  daisy 
place  right  'round  ther  corner  in  der  Hook,  wot  I've 
had  me  eye  on  fur  some  time.  Fust  it  wuz  a  private 
house,  den  it  wuz  turned  into  a  warehouse;  but  fur 
more'n  a  year  it's  been  standin'  empty,  an'  I  can 
get  ther  lease  of  it  fur  a  song,  an'  no  questions  asked. 
Der  front  '11  do  fine  for  a  barroom— der  back  fur 
ther  dance-hall — an'  I  kin  have  ther  upstairs  rooms 
fixed  up  fur  gents  as'd  like  a  little  game  on  ther 
quiet.  Say,  cullie,  when  ther  tide's  in  and  der  cellar 
fills  up  with  water  ter  a  depth  of  over  ten  feet,  a 
bloke  wouldn't  have  much  show  fer  his  life  if  he 


288       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

accidently  fell  inter  dat  cellar  some  fine  night — eh  ?" 
The  thug  winked  his  eye  and  leered  at  his  compan- 
ions, who  all  winked  their  eyes  and  leered  at  him 
in  return. 

"Dere's  a  barrel  of  money  ter  be  made  in  runnin' 
dat  shebang,"  he  went  on,  full  of  his  nefarious  plan, 
"an*  ther  cops  ain't  goin'  ter  do  nothin'  ter  Big 
Mike,  who's  done  many  a  trick  fur  dem.  All  I  wants 
is  a  Moll  ter  start  it  off  with.  Dere's  nothin'  like  a 
woman  behind  der  bar  ter  draw  trade.  I  have  a 
gal  in  me  mind's  eye.  I  know  just  where  ter  lay 
me  hands  on  her,  an'  she'll  have  ter  come  wid  me 
or  I'll  know  de  reason  why." 

The  girl  he  referred  to  was  poor  Maggie. 

The  very  next  day  he  wrote  her  a  letter  addressed 
to  the  rescue  home  and  marked  personal. 

Maggie  received  it,  and,  opening  it,  read  as  fol- 
lows: 

"DEAR  MAG  :  I  know  I  done  yer  dirt,  but  I  rite 
dese  few  lines  fur  ter  let  yer  know  how  sorry  I  am 
an'  ter  tell  yer  dat  I  stan'  reddy,  at  enny  place  an' 
enny  time,  ter  do  der  right  t'ing  by  yer.  Yer  kin 
have  der  Soggarth  Aroon  or  any  odder  priest  yer 


DRIVEN  TO  HER  DOOM  289 

may  name  ter  tie  cler  knot,  or  yer  kin  sho  dis  letter 
ter  der  minister  wot  runs  der  home  an'  ask  him  fur 
ter  do  it.  Dat  shows  I  mean  der  strate  goods,  an' 
when  yer  kin  look  der  woild  in  der  face  agin,  bein' 
as  yer'll  be  lawfully  an'  legally  married  ter  me,  yer 
kin  den  live  wid  me  or  not  whichever  yer  t'ink  best. 
I'll  call  at  der  home  dis  evenin'  fur  me  answer,  which 
I  hope  '11  be  fav'rble,  fur  I  luv  yer,  Maggie,  wid  me 
hull  heart  an'  soul. 

"Yours  till  deaf, 

"MIKE." 

Maggie  was  suffering  from  an  attack  of  home- 
sickness and  depression  of  spirits  when  she  received 
this  letter.  Agnes  had  not  been  to  the  home  for 
nearly  a  week,  and  she  missed  her  greatly.  The 
girl,  accustomed  all  her  life  to  live  more  in  the  free- 
dom of  the  streets  than  in  a  house,  felt  confined  and 
like  one  in  jail,  between  the  four  walls  of  the  home. 
True,  she  was  kindly  treated,  yet  she  pined  for  liber- 
ty without  daring  to  ask  for  permission  to  leave  even 
for  a  few  hours.  She  knew  from  Harold  that  her 
brother  Jack,  in  disguise,  was  a  servant  in  his  house, 
but  he  had  not  come  to  see  her,  Harold  thinking  it 


290        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

best  to  avoid  the  scene  which  would  ensue  at  the 
meeting  of  brother  and  sister.  She  longed  to  see 
him  now,  and  also  Agnes,  and  ask  their  advice  about 
the  letter.  All  day  long  she  went  about  with  the 
note  stuck  in  her  bosom,  hoping  that  at  least  Agnes 
would  visit  the  home,  but  she  did  not  come.  Even- 
ing set  in,  supper  was  served,  and  the  time  for 
Mike  Dempsey  to  come  for  his  answer  was  near  at 
hand  when  the  distracted  girl  finally  showed  the 
letter  to  Mr.  Messenger. 

That  gentleman  read  it  very  carefully.  He  had 
very  strict  notions  on  the  subject  of  woman's  honor, 
and  believed  that  it  was  best  for  a  woman  to  wear  the 
wedding  ring  of  the  man  who  in  all  good  morals 
ought  to  be  her  husband,  even  if  he  was  a  worthless 
scoundrel. 

"My  dear  child,"  he  said  in  his  kindly,  fatherly 
manner,  "I,  too,  wish  that  Agnes  were  here  to 
counsel  you.  The  best  advice  I  can  give  you  is  to 
take  the  fellow  at  his  word  when  he  arrives.  I  will 
perform  the  ceremony,  and,  once  you  are  his  wife, 
the  stain  on  your  good  name  will  be  removed.  Then 
you  can  decline  to  live  with  him.  This  home  will 


DRIVEN  TO  HER  DOOM  291 

always  shield  and  protect  you  as  long  as  you  desire 
to  remain  within  its  walls." 

Maggie  thanked  him  for  his  good  advice  and 
kissed  his  hand.  A  moment  later,  Mike  Dempsey 
was  announced  and  entered  the  office  where  they 
were.  The  rascal  had  gotten  himself  up  specially 
for  the  occasion ;  instead  of  his  usual  loud,  swagger- 
ing clothes,  he  wore  a  simple  sack  suit  of  a  neutral 
tint,  a  white  shirt  with  a  black  tie,  and  he  flashed  no 
cheap  jewelry.  With  a  contrite  air  and  humble  man- 
ner he  approached  Maggie  and  said : 

"Seem'  de  gent,  I  s'pose  yer've  consulted  wid  him 
'bout  my  letter.  Wotever  der  verdick  is  I  hopes 
you  and  der  gent  '11  believe  that  I  wrote  it  wid  hon- 
est intentions." 

"That  I  am  willing  to  believe,"  said  Mr.  Messen- 
ger, while  Maggie  clung  to  his  arm,  mute  and  trem- 
bling, "and  I  have  advised  Maggie  to  become  your 
wife.  I  will  perform  the  ceremony  now." 

"Dat's  wot  I  call  doin'  der  square  t'ing,"  ex- 
claimed the  villain,  secretly  gratified.  "An',  Mag- 
gie," he  added,  taking  her  right  hand  in  his,  "I 
swear  ter  yer  now  dat  yer'll  never  regret  dis 
moment." 


292        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"I  hope  so,  Mike,"  she  murmured,  but  half  con- 
vinced. 

The  ceremony  took  but  a  few  minutes  to  perform, 
and  Mike,  receiving  a  plain  band  of  gold  from  the 
clergyman,  slipped  it  on  Maggie's  finger.  "Now," 
he  declared,  "yer  me  wife,  an'  I'm  goin'  ter  make 
yer  happy  fur  life  if  yer  lets  me.  Say,"  he  added, 
as  if  struck  by  an  afterthought,  "wot's  der  matter 
wid  us  takin'  a  carriage  an'  goin'  up  ter  Mr.  Army- 
tage's  place,  where,  as  I  see  in  der  papers,  Miss 
Merrihew,  der  angel  of  der  slums,  is?  Yer  can  sur- 
prise dem  wid  de  good  news  an'  yer  kin  stay  dere 
till  yer've  learned  ter  trust  me  enough  ter  live  wid 
me." 

"Oh,  if  you  would  only  take  me  there!"  cried 
Maggie,  clapping  her  hands  with  delight. 

Mr.  Messenger  did  not  particularly  fancy  this 
suggestion,  but  Maggie  was  so  taken  by  it  that  he 
could  not  bear  to  wring  her  heart  with  a  refusal.  He 
finally  consented  on  condition  that  another  girl  in  the 
institution  should  accompany  them  and  bring  back 
word  of  Maggie's  safe  arrival.  This  the  villain  read- 
ily agreed  to,  and  a  few  minutes  later  a  carriage  had 
been  summoned,  good-byes  had  been  exchanged,  and 
Maggie  was  driven  off  to  her  doom. 


DECOYED  293 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DECOYED 

REAT  was  the  consternation  of  Harold  and 
Agnes  on  the  following  morning  when  Mr. 
Messenger,  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  burst 
in  on  them  as  they  sat  working  in  the  rear  parlor 
of  the  Armytage  residence. 

"Did  Maggie  get  here  last  night?"  he  asked  al- 
most breathlessly. 

"No,"  replied  Harold;  "did  she  leave  the  home 
to  come  to  us?" 

"Yes,  with  Mike  Dempsey,"  groaned  the  clergy- 
man. 

"With  Big  Mike !"  cried  Agnes,  springing  to  her 
feet  in  wildest  alarm.  "Oh,  my  God!  how  could 
you  have  let  her  go  with  that  villain?" 

Then  the  whole  story  came  out,  told  with  piteous 
self-deprecation  by  the  distracted  minister,  of  the 


294       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

letter  Maggie  had  received,  the  coming  of  Mike 
Dempsey,  the  marriage,  and  their  subsequent  leav- 
ing. 

"Mike  promised  to  bring  her  here,"  he  abjectly 
concluded,  "and  I  thought  I  could  trust  him  if  I 
put  a  third  person  in  the  coach  to  report  Maggie's 
safe  arrival  to  me.  When  the  girl  did  not  return 
last  night  I  believed  you  had  kept  her  over  night; 
but  when  she  did  not  show  up  this  morning,  I  felt 
there  was  something  radically  wrong,  and  came 
hurrying  here." 

"That  villain  has  both  girls  in  his  power,"  de- 
clared Harold.  "We  must  immediately  notify  the 
police  and  move  heaven  and  earth  to  find  and  rescue 
them." 

He  at  once  set  about  doing  this,  and  also  informed 
Jack  McQuillan  what  had  happened  to  his  sister. 

"Black  Sam,"  as  he  was  known  about  the  house, 
swore  a  number  of  fierce  oaths  that  he  would  get 
his  sister  back  and  kill  the  thug  who  had  lured  her 
away.  Utterly  regardless  of  his  own  personal  safety, 
he  rushed  down  to  Jackson  Street  and  inquired  in 
all  Big  Mike's  usual  haunts.  But  his  quest  was  in 
vain.  No  one  had  seen  the  leader  of  the  Jackson- 


DECOYED  295 

ians  since  the  day  before,  or  knew  what  had  become 
of  him.  The  police,  too,  seemed  to  be  unable  to 
get  on  his  track,  and  so  the  day  and  night  passed 
by  with  poor  Maggie  still  in  the  villain's  toils,  and 
her  brother  still  searching  for  her. 

The  next  day  the  search  was  equally  fruitless,  and 
nine  o'clock  that  night  found  Harold  and  Agnes, 
after  an  all-day  hunt,  sitting  dejected  and  discour- 
aged in  the  parlor.  A  servant  entered  the  room  and 
announced  that  there  was  a  ragged-looking  small 
boy  in  the  hall  with  a  message  which  he  said  he 
would  not  deliver  to  any  one  but  Mr.  Armytage  him- 
self. 

"It  may  be  from  Maggie !"  cried  Agnes,  springing 
to  her  feet. 

"Show  the  boy  up  at  once,"  ordered  Harold. 

A  moment  later,  a  street-arab,  one  of  the  most 
precocious  of  his  kind,  entered  the  room,  holding  a 
folded  paper  in  his  hand. 

"Be  you  Mr.  Armytage?"  he  asked  of  Harold. 
"She  said  I  wuzn't  ter  give  dis  note  ter  ennybody 
else." 

"Yes,  I  am  Mr.  Armytage,"  said  Harold,  eagerly 


296       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

holding  out  his  hand  for  the  missive.  "You  are 
right,  Agnes,  it  must  be  from  Maggie." 

"I  don't  know  if  dat's  her  name,"  said  the  boy. 
"All's  I  know  is  dat  I  was  a-playin'  on  der  sidewalk 
down  in  der  Hook  in  front  of  der  old  warehouse 
which  we  all  t'ought  wuz  empty,  when  a  winder  wuz 
opened  on  der  second  floor  an'  a  gal  looks  out 
t' rough  der  bars  wot  is  across  der  winder.  'Hist! 
Johnny,'  she  says,  callin'  me;  'take  dis  note  ter  a 
man  wot's  named  Harold  Armytage  an'  he'll  pay 
yer  well  fur  doin'  of  it.  For  God's  sake,  take  it!' 
Wid  dat  she  drops  der  note  at  me  feet  an'  gives  me 
yer  address.  An'  here's  de  note.  I  hope's  yer'll 
do  der  right  t'ing  by  me." 

"Here's  a  five-dollar  bill  for  you,  boy,"  said 
Harold,  handing  him  the  money  and  taking  the 
note.  "And  heaven  bless  you  for  bringing  it." 

The  lad  stuffed  the  bill  into  his  pocket,  with  a  grin 
on  his  dirt-smutted  face,  which  Harold  and  Gladys 
were  too  excited  to  observe,  and  muttered  to  him- 
self: 

"Dat's  der  second  fiver.  I'm  playin'  in  dead  luck 
ter-night." 


DECOYED  297 

Harold  eagerly  opened  the  note  and  read  it  aloud. 
It  was  as  follows : 

"DEAR  MR.  ARMYTAGE  :  Big  Mike  got  me  away 
from  the  home  by  a  trick  an'  has  brung  me  ter  a 
empty  house  which  I  don't  where  it  is.  He's  locked 
me  and  der  girl  wot  wuz  wid  me  inter  sep'rate  rooms 
on  der  second  floor.  I  heard  him  say  he  wudden't 
be  back  till  ter-morrow,  so  we  girls  is  all  alone.  For 
God's  sake,  break  in  ter-night  and  rescue  us.  I'm 
writin'  dis  hopin'  to  t'row  it  out  of  der  winder  ter 
some  boy  who'll  bring  it  ter  yer.  If  yer  get  it  der 
boy'll  show  yer  der  house.  Fur  de  love  of  heaven, 
get  me  out.  MAGGIE." 

Harold  showed  the  note  to  Agnes,  who  declared  it 
was  in  Maggie's  handwriting. 

"We  must  break  into  that  house  to-night!"  she 
cried. 

"So  dat's  der  game,  is  it?"  exclaimed  the  street- 
arab.  "I  t'ought  der  gal  wuz  in  some  kind  o'  trub- 
ble.  Say,  boss,  I'll  show  yer  der  house  an'  help 
yer  to  break  in  an'  get  der  poor  gal  out." 

"Good  boy!"  declared  Harold.     "If  we  succeed 


298       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

there'll  be  another  bill  coming  to  you,  and  this  time 
it  will  be  a  ten-spot." 

Whereat  the  grimy-faced  youngster  gave  another 
grin. 

"If  we  only  had  Jack  McQuillan  with  us  now," 
said  Agnes. 

"He  said  he  wouldn't  come  back  until  he  had 
found  his  sister,"  rejoined  Harold.  "There  is  no 
use  waiting  for  him." 

He  grabbed  up  his  overcoat  and  hat  as  he  spoke, 
then,  turning  to  the  lad,  added : 

"Lead  on,  boy;  I  will  follow  you." 

"And  so  will  I,"  affirmed  Agnes,  donning  her 
jacket  and  putting  on  her  hat. 

"You,  Agnes !"  exclaimed  Harold. 

"Yes.  I  am  better  acquainted  in  the  slums  than 
you  are.  In  the  dark  streets  down  there  you  might 
be  waylaid  and  sandbagged.  Ruffians  that  they 
are,  they  know  me,  and  will  not  harm  you  if  I  am 
with  you." 

"I  t'ink  der  leddy's  right,"  said  the  boy;  "it's  a 
tough  gang  down  dere." 

Harold  did  not  further  oppose  her  wishes,  and 
the  three  left  the  house  together.  They  took  the 


DECOYED  299 

cars  for  downtown,  the  street-arab  remaining  on  the 
platform,  for  the  reason,  as  he  said,  "dat  dey  was 
too  swell  guys  fur  him  ter  be  seen  in  deir  com- 
pany." 

A  transfer  of  lines  brought  them  to  the  corner  of 
Grand  and  Jackson  streets,  and,  walking  down  that 
street  toward  the  river-front,  they  soon  reached 
Corlears  Hook  and  the  empty  warehouse  pointed  out 
to  them  by  the  boy.  No  light  appeared  in  any  win- 
dow; not  a  sound  issued  from  the  building;  to  all 
appearances  it  was  absolutely  deserted  and  unin- 
habited. The  street,  too,  was  in  utter  darkness,  the 
lamp  on  the  corner  lamp-post  having  gone  out,  and 
not  a  wagon  or  a  pedestrian  was  in  sight. 

"If  Maggie  knew  we  were  down  here,"  said 
Agnes,  "how  quickly  she  would  come  to  the  win- 
dow." 

"I  suppose  she  is  not  even  allowed  a  light,"  re- 
joined Harold.  "Now,  boy,  help  me  batter  in  this 
door." 

He  put  his  strong  shoulders  to  the  double  doors 
on  the  ground  floor  and  pushed  with  all  his  might. 
The  boy  also  gave  a  good  shove,  while  Agnes  looked 
on  intently  to  note  the  result  of  their  first  effort. 


300        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

The  doors  were  of  heavy  wood  without  any  glass 
panels,  and,  as  they  were  presumably  locked,  it 
seemed  very  doubtful  if  anything  could  be  accom- 
plished in  this  way. 

Yet  at  the  first  push  they  opened  at  once,  swing- 
ing inward  so  violently  that  the  force  Harold  had 
exerted  sent  him  sprawling  into  the  room. 

Before  he  could  arise  a  number  of  men  pounced  on 
him  and  pinned  him  firmly  to  the  floor.  The  next 
instant  the  flame  of  a  gas-jet  flared  up  and  he  saw 
Big  Mike  standing  over  him,  glaring  at  him. 

When  Big  Mike  found  himself  with  the  two  girls 
in  the  coach,  which  was  driven  by  one  of  his  gang, 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  reducing  both  to  submission. 
He  simply  grabbed  each  by  the  throat  and  choked 
them  into  insensibility  before  they  could  utter  a 
scream  for  help. 

When  the  girls  recovered  consciousness  they 
found  themselves  in  an  attic  room  in  the  old  ware- 
house, so  high  up  that  their  screams  could  not  be 
heard  in  the  street,  and  with  the  windows  heavily 
barred  so  that  they  could  not  make  their  escape. 
By  the  light  of  a  dimly  burning  candle  they  discov- 


DECOYED  301 

ered  Big  Mike  sitting  on  a  three-legged  stool,  which 
was  the  only  bit  of  furniture  in  the  room,  calmly 
waiting  for  them  to  regain  their  senses,  as  they  lay 
on  the  floor. 

"So,  gals,"  he  said,  when  he  saw  them  open  their 
eyes  in  affright ;  "how  d'yer  like  yer  new  quarters  ?" 

Maggie  sprang  to  her  feet,  while  her  companion 
was  too  frightened  to  move. 

"Is  dis  der  way  ye've  tricked  an'  deceived  me, 
Mike  Dempsey?"  she  cried  indignantly.  "Take  back 
yer  ring — I  wudden't  be  yer  wife  now."  She  tore 
the  ring  from  her  finger  and  threw  it  at  him. 

"Very  well,"  coolly  replied  the  villain,  picking  it 
up  and  pocketing  it,  "I  kin  hock  dis  for  a  dollar,  an* 
it's  clear  graft  for  me,  seein'  it  wuz  de  bloke  at  der 
home  dat  gave  it  ter  yer.  Wife  or  no  wife,  here  yer 
are  an'  here  yer  stays.  I'm  goin'  ter  turn  dis  place 
inter  a  dance-hall  an'  yer  goin'  ter  be  me  Moll  and 
help  me  run  it,  see?  As  fur  you,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  the  other  girl,  "I  didn't  expect  to  have  yer 
on  me  hands,  but  yer'll  come  in  handy,  too." 

He  kicked  a  pile  of  straw  from  one  side  of  the 
room  into  the  center,  saying : 

''Sorry  I  can't  give  yese  enny  better  lodgin'  ter- 


302        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

night,  but  yer  kin  lay  down  on  dat  straw  an'  make 
der  best  of  it." 

With  a  triumphant  leer  at  his  helpless  captives 
he  walked  out  of  the  room,  carefully  locking  and 
bolting  the  door  behind  him.  The  girls  screamed 
and  pounded  the  door  with  their  fists  and  rattled 
the  bars  at  the  window,  but  their  puny  efforts  could 
not  set  them  free,  and  their  cries  were  unheard. 

They  spent  a  sleepless  night,  and  in  the  morning 
Big  Mike  visited  them  again,  bringing  them  a  scanty 
breakfast.  He  warned  them  to  make  less  noise 
during  the  daytime  than  they  had  during  the  night, 
threatening  to  thrash  them  within  an  inch  of  their 
lives  if  he  heard  any  sound  from  their  room.  Thor- 
oughly cowed  and  frightened,  the  two  girls  passed 
the  day  and  the  night  sobbing  and  praying,  with  the 
one  hope  in  their  hearts  that  their  friends  would 
learn  of  their  whereabouts  and  come  to  their  rescue. 
They  never  saw  Big  Mike  except  when  he  came  to 
bring  them  their  meals,  and  then  he  was  obdurate 
to  all  their  pleadings  for  release. 

On  the  third  night  of  their  capture  Mike  came  to 
them  with  their  supper  and  a  brand-new  scheme 
which  he  had  hatched  during  that  afternoon.  What 


DECOYED  303 

was  the  use,  he  thought,  of  opening  a  dance-hall  and 
trying  to  earn  a  living,  however  disreputable,  when 
he  could  make  a  strike  for  a  portion  of  the  millions 
which,  as  he  read  in  the  papers,  Harold  Armytage 
was  scattering  among  the  poor  ?  The  fact  of  Mag- 
gie being  in  his  power  gave  him  just  the  opportunity 
he  wanted  for  a  successful  piece  of  extortion. 

"If  yer  don't  like  the  idea  of  bein'  der  mistress  of 
a  dance-hall,"  he  said  to  Maggie,  "I'll  give  yer  a 
chance  ter  get  out.  Here's  a  bit  of  paper  and  pen- 
cil. Write  a  note  to  Mr.  Armytage,  tellin'  him  to 
come  here  an'  get  yer." 

"Do  you  really  mean  it?"  joyfully  exclaimed  Mag- 
gie, taking  the  proffered  paper  and  pencil. 

"Yer'll  write  just  what  I  dictates,"  he  gruffly 
replied,  pulling  out  a  revolver,  "or  yer'll  get  a  bullet 
from  dis  in  yer  brain." 

In  imminent  peril  of  her  life,  and  with»the  deadly 
weapon  pressed  to  her  head,  poor  Maggie  was  com- 
pelled to  write  the  letter  which  Harold  afterward  re- 
ceived. When  it  was  finished  Mike  read  it  over, 
declared  it  was  satisfactory,  and,  putting  it  in  his 
pocket,  left  the  room,  again  locking  and  bolting  the 
door,  leaving  poor  Maggie  more  than  ever  distract- 


304        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

ed  at  the  thought  that  she  was  luring  the  kind  gen- 
tleman, who  had  befriended  her  at  the  home,  to  his 
doom. 

It  was  not  difficult  for  Big  Mike  to  find  one  of 
the  tough  juvenile  specimens  of  the  neighborhood 
who  was  willing  for  a  five-dollar  bill  to  deliver  the 
note.  He  carefully  drilled  the  boy  as  to  what  he  was 
to  say  and  do,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  the  sharp  little 
rogue  followed  out  his  instructions  to  the  letter. 

That  was  how  Harold  fell  into  the  decoyer's 
trap. 


A  NOBLE  SACRIFICE  305 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A   NOBLE  SACRIFICE 

T  X  THEN  Agnes  saw  Harold  fall  into  the  trap 
prepared  for  him,  she  gave  a  scream  and 
darted  up  the  street  to  find  a  policeman,  but  she  was 
not  quick  enough  to  make  her  escape.  One  of  the 
ruffians  rushed  after  her,  and,  catching  her  by  the 
hair,  dragged  her  back  screaming  and  shrieking  into 
the  warehouse.  Big  Mike  stepped  out  and  looked 
up  and  down  the  street.  No  one  had  heard  the  noise 
or  the  screams — all  was  dark  and  quiet  at  that  time 
of  the  night  in  that  district  of  factories  and  ware- 
houses. With  a  smile  of  satisfaction  he  closed  the 
front  doors  and  faced  Harold,  who  was  still  being 
held  down  by  his  captors. 

"What  d'ye  t'ink  of  yer  position  now,  Mr.  Mill- 
yunaire?"  he  sneeringly  asked. 

"What    have   you    done    with    Maggie?"    asked 


3o6        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Harold  in  return,  the  thought  of  the  poor  girl's 
safety  being  uppermost  in  his  mind  in  spite  of  his 
own  danger. 

"Mrs.  Mike  Dempsey,  if  you  please,"  retorted  the 
thug.  "I  don't  permit  no  man  ter  be  dat  intimate 
wid  me  wife  fer  ter  go  an'  call  her  by  her  Christian 
name.  What  I've  done  wid  her  ain't  none  of  yer 
business,  seein'  as  how  she's  married  ter  me;  but  I 
will  say  she's  a  pretty  obedient  wife,  all  the  same,  as 
yer  can  judge  by  ther  letter  she  writ  yer." 

"You're  a  liar,  Mike  Dempsey,"  declared  Harold, 
"and  you  know  it.  If  Maggie  wrote  that  letter  she 
did  so  under  compulsion  and  not  of  her  own  free 
will." 

"P'raps  yer  right  about  dat,"  admitted  Mike,  with 
a  grin,  "but  dat's  neider  here  nor  dere.  I  wants  ter 
tell  yer  why  I  got  yer  down  here.  You  mustn't  go 
fer  ter  t'ink  dat  yer  kin  blow  in  yer  millyuns  an'  be 
showin'  partiality  ter  yer  own  peepul.  We  are  der 
peepul!  If  dere's  any  money  ter  be  divided,  we 
wants  our  share." 

"You  are  a  set  of  thieves  and  robbers!"  cried 
Harold  indignantly. 

"Will  yer  listen  to  dat,  pals !"  exclaimed  the  thug, 


A  NOBLE  SACRIFICE  307 

turning  to  his  fellows.  "Dere's  de  great  champeen 
ot  de  poor  and  de  down-trod,  wot  has  his  picter 
printed  in  de  papers  as  de  hero  of  de  common  peepul, 
callin'  dem  t'ieves  an'  robbers.  Say,  we  orter  soak 
him  fur  dat." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  you,"  retorted  Harold,  "nor 
do  I  think  that  you  or  your  gang  intend  to  do  me 
bodily  harm.  You  have  got  me  in  your  power  in 
ordei  to  extort  money  from  me.  How  much  do  you 
want?' 

"Now  yer  shoutin',"  said  Big  Mike,  gratifiedly. 
"Dough  if  yer  knew  wot  wuz  healt'y  fur  yer,  yer 
wudden't  go  callm'  it  by  dat  name.  Why,  yer  said 
yerself  on  der  platform,  that  youse  an'  de  likes  of 
youse  never  earned  der  millyuns  yer  had — dat  dey 
were  extorted  from  de  necessities  of  de  poor.  Wot 
are  yer,  den,  but  an  extorshuner  yerself?  How- 
ever," he  continued,  "I'm  not  bandyin'  enny  words 
wid  yer — it's  de  dough  I'm  after.  We  hear  yer've 
sold  yer  bizness  fur  two  millions;  ten  per  cent,  of 
what  yer  have,  sez  de  Good  Book,  give  unto  de  poor. 
We  are  de  poor.  Fork  out  $200,000,  an'  yer  a 
free  man." 

"Your  demand  is  preposterous,"  declared  Harold ; 


308        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"but  even  were  I  willing  to  concede  it,  how  is  it 
possible  for  me  to  raise  that  amount  at  a  moment's 
notice?" 

"Oh,  dat's  easy,"  the  thug  assured  him.  "Here's 
dis  young  lady  which  I  knowed  when  she  lived  in 
dis  neighborhood.  Dey  calls  her  de  angel  of  de 
slums.  I'll  keep  her  ter  be  my  angel  till  yer  comes 
back  wid  der  cash.  If  yer  don't  show  up  in  two 
days  I'll  put  her  in  me  dance-hall  an' " 

"No  more,  you  villain !"  interrupted  Harold,  vain- 
ly struggling  to  free  himself  from  his  captors.  "If 
I  were  at  liberty,  even  for  a  moment,  I  would  choke 
the  dastard  words  down  your  throat." 

"But  yer  ain't  at  liberty,  yer  see,"  chuckled  the 
brute.  "Here,  jest  look  at  dis." 

He  raised  a  trap  in  the  flooring  and  in  the  opening 
thus  made  the  river  could  be  seen  flowing  into  the 
cellar. 

"De  tide  is  in,"  he  declared.  "Dere's  a  good  ten 
feet  of  water  down  dere.  Wot's  ter  prevent  me  and 
my  men  from  chuckin'  yer  down  dat  hole  an'  closin' 
der  trap  ?  Dat'd  mean  good-by  ter  you,  an'  dis  gal'd 
be  mine." 

"Oh,   Mr.   Armytage — Harold!  this  is  terrible," 


A  NOBLE  SACRIFICE  309 

exclaimed  Agnes,  wringing  her  hands  in  agony. 
"Consent  to  his  demands — I  will  not  be  afraid  to 
remain  here  with  Maggie.  We  will  protect  each 
other.  Consent " 

"Don't!"  cried  Maggie,  suddenly  rushing  into  the 
room,  "consent  ter  no  thin';  de  cops  are  comiri '!" 

"De  cops  are  comin' !"  The  words  struck  terror  to 
the  souls  of  the  men  who  were  holding  Harold. 
They  let  go  of  him,  and  he,  springing  to  his  feet, 
rushed  to  Agnes,  drawing  her  into  his  protecting 
arms.  A  fit  of  violent  rage  seized  Big  Mike.  He 
sprang  at  Maggie  and  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"Who  let  yer  out,  d n  yer?"  he  cried,  with 

the  snarl  of  a  wolf.  "How  d'yer  know  der  cops  are 
comin'  ?" 

"Me  brudder  Jack  let  me  out,"  she  replied,  un- 
daunted ;  "he  got  on  yer  trail  an'  spotted  yer  down 
here.  He  climbed  up  de  rear  of  de  house  and 
wrenched  one  of  de  bars  from  de  winder  of  me 
room.  He  den  got  in  and  broke  open  de  door.  I 
told  him  ter  go  fur  der  cops,  while  I  cum  down 
ter " 

"Die,  curse  yer — die !"  shouted  the  thug ;  and  be- 
fore the  horrified  spectators  could  divine  his  act  or 


310        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

prevent  it,  he  grabbed  up  the  hapless  girl  and  hurled 
her  through  the  open  hole  into  the  deep,  dark  waters 
below. 

There  was  one  shriek  which  ended  in  a  muffled 
gurgle,  then  the  water  closed  over  poor  Maggie — 
and  all  was  over. 

So  paralyzed  were  all  by  this  brutal  murder  that 
they  seemed  rooted  to  the  spot  with  horror.  The 
weird  silence  which  reigned  was  suddenly  broken  by 
a  resounding  crash,  as  the  front  doors,  which  had 
been  simply  closed,  but  not  locked,  were  burst  in 
with  one  powerful  push  and  Jack  McQuillan  sprang 
into  the  room. 

"Where's  Mag? — where's  me  sister?"  he  cried, 
rushing  toward  Big  Mike.  The  latter  with  a  trium- 
phant leer  pointed  to  the  open  trap. 

"Yer've  killed  her!"  shrieked  Jack;  "an',  by  the 
God  who  made  me,  I'll  kill  you." 

Big  Mike  tried  to  draw  his  revolver,  but  it  was 
too  late;  those  powerful  hands,  that  had  once  before 
fatally  gripped  a  human  being,  closed  around  the 
thug's  neck. 

"I  didn't  mean  ter  do  der  dago,"  gritted  Jack, 
"but  I  do  mean  ter  kill  you." 


A  NOBLE  SACRIFICE  311 

No  one  attempted  to  interfere.  The  paralysis 
which  had  seized  the  witnesses  of  the  first  murder 
kept  them  spellbound  spectators  of  the  second  crime. 
Big  Mike  turned  black  in  the  face  and  with  his  hands 
tried  to  wrench  away  the  deadly  grip  from  his  neck, 
but  all  in  vain;  he  was  held  as  in  a  vise,  while  the 
clutch  grew  tighter  and  tighter.  He  twisted  and 
squirmed,  but  could  not  free  himself.  His  eyes  be- 
gan to  bulge  out  from  their  sockets,  and  there  was  a 
peculiar  hissing  in  his  throat  as  he  gasped  for  air. 
Froth  gathered  at  his  mouth,  and  his  tongue  pro- 
truded from  his  blood-flecked  lips.  His  breast  rose 
and  fell  convulsively;  then  he  suddenly  collapsed — 
and  the  deed  was  done. 

Jack  opened  his  hands,  and  the  dull,  inert  mass 
that  a  few  minutes  before  was  a  living  man  fell  with 
a  thud  to  the  floor. 

Like  a  wild  beast,  the  murderer  for  a  moment 
gazed  at  his  dead  prey,  then,  with  a  half  inarticulate 
cry  of  "Maggie,  oh,  Maggie!"  dived  head  foremost 
through  the  trap.  There  was  a  splashing  of  water, 
while  those  present  held  their  breath  with  suspense, 
and  then  he  reappeared,  laboriously  climbing  up  out 
of  the  trap,  holding  the  dead,  dripping  form  of  his 


312        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

sister  in  one  arm.  The  water  had  washed  the  black 
stain  from  his  face,  neck  and  hands,  and  "Black 
Sam"  had  given  place  again  to  Jack  McQuillan,  the 
escaped  convict  wanted  by  the  police  for  murder. 

Gently  as  a  mother  lays  down  her  babe  to  slumber, 
he  stretched  the  lifeless  form  on  the  floor  and  knelt 
down  beside  it;  then  he  lifted  one  arm  and  let  it 
drop ;  it  fell  inertly  to  the  side  of  the  body ;  he  raised 
the  eyelashes,  but  there  was  no  sight  in  the  eyes ;  he 
put  his  head  down  on  the  still,  cold  breast,  but  there 
was  no  faintest  beating  of  the  heart. 

"Dead,  Maggie,  dead !"  he  cried,  bursting  into 
tears  and  throwing  himself  prostrate  over  the  body. 

The  steady  tramp,  tramp  of  marching  feet  now 
announced  the  coming  of  the  police,  and  soon  a 
squad  of  officers  from  the  nearest  precinct,  headed 
by  the  sergeant,  marched  into  the  warehouse.  So 
unnerved  had  the  members  of  the  gang  become  by 
the  double  tragedy  that  they  had  no  courage  left  to 
attempt  an  escape.  They  all  surrendered  and  sub- 
mitted to  be  handcuffed. 

"There's  been  bloody  work,  I  see,"  said  the 
sergeant  to  Harold,  whom  he  knew  by  sight.  "We 
came  as  soon  as  we  could." 


A  NOBLE  SACRIFICE  313 

"A  noble  girl  sacrificed  her  life  for  us,"  said 
Harold,  pointing  to  Maggie's  dead  body;  "and  the 
man  who  put  us  in  jeopardy  of  our  liberty,  if  not 
our  lives,"  he  added,  "lies  dead  there." 

"But  where's  the  black  man  who  came  to  the 
station  house  to  fetch  us?"  asked  the  sergeant.  "I 
told  him  to  wait  until  I  could  summon  my  men,  but 
he  dashed  on  ahead." 

"I'm  der  black  man,"  said  Jack  in  a  dull  voice, 
raising  his  tear-stained  face. 

"Jack  McQuillan !"  cried  the  sergeant,  recogniz- 
ing him. 

"Yes,  der  man  yer  lookin'  fer — der  murderer  fur 
whom  a  t'ousand  dollar  reward  is  offered,  dead  or 
alive.  Der  money  is  yours,  sergeant.  Me  sister 
Maggie  is  dead,  an'  I  don't  care  to  live  no  more. 
Big  Mike  killed  her,  an'  I  killed  Big  Mike.  I  never 
wanted  to  kill  der  dago,  but  I  wanted  ter  kill  Mike, 
an'  I  did.  I'm  booked  fur  der  'lectric  chair  fur  good 
dis  time,  but  I  ain't  makin'  no  squeal."  He  bent 
down  and  kissed  Maggie's  dead  lips,  then  held  out 
his  arms  for  the  handcuffs. 


3 14       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  BATCH   OF  LETTERS 

Havre,  November  I3th. 

T^vEAR  BROTHER:  You  will  have  received 
*— '  Etienne's  cable  announcing  our  safe  arrival 
before  you  get  this  letter.  We  had  a  tempestuous 
voyage  and  were  horribly  delayed  by  tide  and  storm ; 
the  vessel  got  into  port  only  last  evening. 

This  was  my  first  trip  across  the  Atlantic,  you 
know,  and  I  must  be  a  terribly  bad  sailor,  for  I  was 
sea-sick  practically  all  the  way  over.  If  this  is  the 
usual  experience  of  brides,  I  wonder  why  they  make 
an  ocean  voyage  part  of  their  honeymoon?  With 
me  it  was  a  necessity,  for  Etienne  was  so  very 
anxious  to  return  to  his  native  land.  I  recovered  as 
soon  as  I  set  foot  on  land  again,  but  I  was  a  sick 
woman  on  board  the  ship,  which  kept  rolling  in  the 
mountain-high  waves  in  a  way  too  awful  to  depict. 


A  BATCH  OF  LETTERS  315 

The  first  few  days  Etienne  was  more  than  gallant 
in  his  attention  to  my  needs.  He  is  an  excellent 
sailor,  and  doesn't  know  what  it  is  to  suffer  from 
mal  de  mer.  Perhaps  for  that  reason  he  later  on 
lost  patience  with  my  constant  state  of  illness,  and 
having  seen  that  all  my  wants  were  attended  to, 
left  me  to  the  care  of  my  maid,  and  spent  most  of 
his  time  on  deck  and  in  the  card-room.  Well,  I 
cannot  blame  him.  A  woman,  no  matter  how  good- 
looking  she  ordinarily  may  be,  is  not  a  pleasant 
sight  to  contemplate  when  in  the  throes  of  sea-sick- 
ness ;  and  no  matter  how  angelic  her  disposition,  she 
is  apt  then  to  be  fretful  and  querulous.  Which 
brings  me  back  to  my  former  question :  Why  cross 
the  Atlantic  on  your  wedding-trip? 

Thank  goodness,  though,  it  is  all  over  now.  We 
are  quartered  in  a  comfortable  hotel  in  the  fashion- 
able part  of  the  city,  where  we  shall  remain  a  few 
days  for  me  to  recuperate,  and  then  we  will  pro- 
ceed to  Paris.  It  is  arranged  that  we  will  stay  in 
Paris  for  about  five  weeks,  so  that  our  arrival  at 
Belle-Riviere  will  be  during  the  festivities  of  Noel, 
the  French  Christmas,  which  Etienne  tells  me  is 
made  much  of  in  this  country,  especially  by  the 


316       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

peasants  in  the  southern  part  of  France.  You  know 
the  chateau  of  Belle-Riviere  is  located  on  the  Rhone, 
not  far  from  the  ancient  town  of  Aries  in  the  Midi. 
They  say  the  climate  is  like  that  of  our  own  Florida, 
and  that  there  is  practically  no  winter  there.  Well, 
we  shall  see.  I  hate  the  cold  and  the  snow  and  the 
ice,  and  if  we  are  to  pass  the  winter  on  the  Rhone, 
I  hope  it  will  be  like  one  of  our  own  southern 
seasons. 

At  the  hotel  we  found  awaiting  us  a  courier 
from  my  uncle  by  marriage,  the  Duke  de  Belle- 
Riviere.  He  brought  us  a  letter  from  the  Duke. 
It  may  seem  absurd  in  American  eyes  to  despatch 
a  letter  with  a  messenger  in  these  days  of  fast  mail 
service,  but  that  is  strictly  according  to  the  etiquette 
of  the  ancien  regime,  one  of  the  few  upholders  of 
which  left  surviving  in  Republican  France  is  my 
noble  relative.  I  think  it  is  very  nice,  don't  you? 
The  Duke's  letter  was  addressed  to  both  of  us; 
in  it  he  called  me  his  niece  bien-aimee.  He  regretted 
that  age  and  infirmity  prevented  him  from  flying 
on  the  wings  of  love  to  embrace  the  new  daughter 
of  the  house  of  Belle-Riviere,  and  to  welcome  to 
France  one  who  would  shed  luster  on  her  adopted 


A  BATCH  OF  LETTERS  317 

country  and  make  the  glory  of  the  family  name 
more  radiant  in  the  future  than  it  had  ever  been  in 
the  past.  Rather  grandiloquently  put,  wasn't  it? 
He  must  be  a  courtly  old  gentleman.  I  am  eager 
to  see  him — and  to  learn  to  love  him.  Etienne  tells 
me  that  in  spite  of  his  eighty  years  the  Duke  is  a 
fine,  if  venerable,  specimen  of  manhood,  rugged  in 
physical  strength,  like  some  hoary  old  oak,  and  with 
a  mentality  which  seems  to  grow  keener  as  his  in- 
evitable end  grows  nearer. 

I  have  written  you  a  longer  letter  than  I  thought 
I  would  when  I  began,  and  I  will  close  now  with 
Etienne's  greetings  of  fraternal  affection,  which  he 
begged  me  to  send,  and  my  love  to  you  and  the 
quondam  angel  of  the  slums,  your  present  stenogra- 
pher, dear  Agnes.  GLADYS. 

P.S. — What  is  this  terrible  news  that  has  been 
cabled  over,  and  which  I  have  just  been  reading  in 
the  papers  ?  Your  life  and  that  of  Agnes  in  danger — 
poor  Maggie  McQuillan  dead,  and  her  brother  again 
a  prisoner  in  the  Tombs!  Write  me  full  details  to 
my  Paris  address,  which  I  enclose.  Write  at  once 
and  relieve  my  awful  suspense. 


3i8       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Paris,  November  2Oth. 

DEAR  HAROLD:  While  waiting  for  your  answer 
to  my  first  letter  I  must  write  you  a  few  lines  to  tell 
you  that  I  have  completely  recovered  my  health 
in  the  two  days  we  have  been  in  Paris. 

Etienne  is  all  that  a  wife  can  desire  in  her  hus- 
band. He  is  in  high  spirits,  laughs  and  sings  the 
live-long  day  and  would  hug  me  every  few  minutes 
if  I  would  let  him.  He  is  altogether  a  different 
man  to  what  he  was  on  board  the  ship,  when  I 
thought  him  somewhat  neglectful  to  his  bride  of 
scarcely  a  week,  or  to  the  moping,  distrait  person  he 
was  during  our  stay  at  Havre.  Is  it  because  I 
am  radiant  with  health  and  have  recovered  my  good 
looks,  and  that  his  temperament  depends  on  his 
wife's  physical  condition?  If  so  I  will  have  to  add 
a  petition  for  constant  health  to  my  evening  prayers. 
Or  is  it  because  the  air  of  Paris  has  gotten  into  his 
blood?  They  say  that  Frenchmen  can  no  more 
exist  out  of  Paris  than  a  fish  out  of  water.  Is  it 
so  with  Etienne?  He  has  mapped  out  a  program 
for  our  stay  here,  which  includes  some  form  of 
amusement  or  entertainment  for  every  afternoon 
and  evening  for  the  whole  five  weeks.  I  will  write 


A  BATCH  OF  LETTERS  319 

you  the  details  after  I  have  received  your  letter, 
for  which  I  am  so  anxiously  waiting.  Love  to 
Agnes.  GLADYS. 

P.S. — Does  Alicia  come  as  often  to  the  house  as 
formerly?  I  presume  not.  If  you  see  her  kindly 
remember  me  to  her. 


Paris,  November  27th. 

MY  DARLING  OF  A  BROTHER  :  This  is  Thanks- 
giving Day  with  you,  though  the  people  here  know 
nothing  of  such  a  holiday.  But  I  am  celebrating 
my  own  Thanksgiving  for  your  good,  long  letter, 
which  came  as  a  Thanksgiving  gift  this  very  morn- 
ing, as  also  the  few  lines  from  Agnes.  I  am  going  to 
answer  her  note  (I  don't  call  a  dozen  lines  a  letter), 
and  give  her  a  good  scolding  on  account  of  the 
stilted  style  in  which  she  addresses  me.  Suppose 
I  am  a  Marquise,  does  that  make  me  any  less  her 
former  schoolmate  or  make  her  any  less  the  dearest 
friend  I  have?  I  will  enclose  my  letter  to  her  in 
this  one,  and  you  shall  be  my  courier  to  hand  it  to 
her,  just  in  the  style  of  the  ancien  regime. 


320       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Thank  Heaven  that  you  and  Agnes  came  out  of 
that  terrible  place  in  Corlears  Hook  alive.  My  sus- 
pense is  relieved.  Please  do  not  try  to  be  quite  so 
quixotic  in  the  future.  Your  life  is  dear  to  others, 
even  if  you  yourself  do  not  seem  to  value  it  very 
highly.  You  ought,  however,  to  try  to  do  some- 
thing to  save  Jack  McQuillan  from  his  impending 
doom.  If  ever  any  villain  deserved  death,  it  was 
the  scoundrel  who  murdered  poor  Maggie;  only 
take  a  sister's  advice  and  don't  go  changing  clothes 
with  Jack  McQuillan  again.  It  may  seem  more  ro- 
mantic, but  you  will  accomplish  more  by  appealing 
to  the  governor  for  clemency  for  the  poor  man.  I 
am  glad  to  hear  that  you  have  had  poor  Maggie's 
remains  interred  in  Greenwood  Cemetery  and  will 
erect  a  simple  shaft  to  her  memory.  She  practically 
gave  up  her  life  for  your  sake.  Please  have  a  rose- 
bush put  on  her  grave  in  my  name,  to  keep  her 
memory  green. 

How  can  I  begin  to  tell  you  where  I  have  been 
during  our  week  in  Paris?  Fortunately,  you  know 
the  gay  capital  like  a  book,  and  therefore  I  need  not 
describe  the  indescribable.  We  have  been  to  the 
Louvre,  to  the  Elysee,  to  Fontainebleau,  to  St.  Cloud ; 


A  BATCH  OF  LETTERS  321 

we  have  paid  our  respects  to  the  President  of  the 
Republic  and  to  the  American  Minister;  we  have 
made  visits  to  titled  families  in  the  Faubourg  Saint 
Germain,  and  have  received  visits  at  our  hotel;  we 
have  dined  at  Viviers  and  in  the  Quartier  Latin ;  we 
have  heard  Patti  sing  and  seen  Sarah  Bernhardt  act ; 
we  have  been  to  the  Theatre  des  Varietes,  and  have 
even  taken  a  peep  at  the  Moulin  Rouge.  In  a  word, 
we  are  leading  a  perfectly  bohemian  existence,  and  I 
must  confess  that  I  like  it.  As  for  Etienne,  he  fairly 
effloresces.  He  plunges  into  the  gayeties  of  Paris- 
ian life  with  the  avidity  of  a  man  reaching  out  for 
a  drink  of  water  after  passing  through  the  arid 
wastes  of  the  desert.  He  is  absolutely  tireless, 
taking  me  with  him  from  one  place  of  amusement 
to  another,  then  back  to  the  hotel,  where  he  leaves 
me  to  go  to  one  of  the  many  clubs  of  which  he  is 
a  member,  returning  at  day-break  to  breakfast  and 
sleep  until  the  afternoon,  when  he  again  goes 
through  the  same  round.  Remonstrance  on  my  part 
is  of  little  use.  He  tells  me  that  we  will  have  plenty 
of  rest  down  there — meaning  Belle-Riviere — and 
that  we  must  make  the  most  of  the  few  weeks  in 


322       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

which  we  shall  live  instead  of  merely  existing.  I 
am  afraid  he  is  not  cut  out  for  a  staid  pater-familias. 

To-night  we  go  to  hear  a  wonderful  violinist, 
about  whom  all  Paris  has  gone  stark  mad.  He  is  a 
Hungarian  who  renders  Liszt's  Rhapsodies  in  a  way 
that  no  one  else  has  since  the  composer's  time,  and 
who  gets  everybody's  feet  in  a  mad  whirl  when  he 
plays  a  Czardas.  I  wonder  what  impression  he  will 
make  on  me  ?  I  will  let  you  know  in  my  next  letter. 

GLADYS. 

P.S. — No  postscript  this  time,  for  a  wonder. 


Paris,  December  6th. 

DEAREST  HAROLD:  I've  heard  Czerny  play  no 
less  than  three  times  in  one  week;  that  is  to  say,  as 
often  as  he  has  appeared.  He  is  the  Hungarian  I 
wrote  you  about  in  my  last  letter.  You  must  pro- 
nounce his  name  as  if  it  was  spelled  Cherny; 
Etienne  says  it  differs  from  a  Russian  name  in 
that  it  begins  with  a  sneeze  instead  of  ending  with 
one.  For  my  part  I  think  it  is  as  romantic  as  the 
man  himself.  Figure  to  yourself,  as  they  say  in 
France,  a  man  not  above  thirty  and  appearing  even 


A  BATCH  OF  LETTERS  323 

younger,  with  his  slim  form  and  clean-shaven  face, 
which  bears  an  habitually  melancholy  expression, 
except  when  it  is  animated  by  the  emotion  of  his 
playing;  dark,  soulful  eyes  whose  glances  complete 
the  thrill  his  music  awakens  in  your  heart;  a  shock 
of  black,  curly  hair,  which  gives  something  of  a 
gypsy  look  to  his  features;  there  you  have  as  near 
a  pen-picture  of  Czerny  as  I  can  draw. 

After  the  first  night,  when  he  played  the  Rhap- 
sodic No.  2,  I  was  as  crazy  as  the  rest;  but,  then, 
you  know  I  always  was  music-mad.  Etienne,  who 
prefers  Offenbach  and  Waldteufel,  said  it  was  very 
nice  but  rather  monotonous,  and  when  I  asked  him 
to  take  me  to  the  two  matinee  performances  that 
were  to  follow,  he  begged  to  be  excused.  He  of- 
fered to  procure  tickets  for  me,  and  said  it  was  the 
usual  thing  for  ladies  to  attend  the  day  concerts 
without  an  escort.  So  I  heard  the  two  other  recitals 
alone.  It  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  been  alone 
at  an  entertainment.  The  impression  created  on 
me  by  the  first  concert  was  deepened  by  the  two  suc- 
ceeding ones.  I  think  Czerny  is  the  greatest  of  living 
violinists. 

We  are  to  leave  Paris  for  Belle-Riviere  on  the 


324        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

2oth.     I  hope  to  receive  your  answer  to  my  last 
letter  in  time  to  write  you  once  again  from  here. 

GLADYS. 


Paris,  December  igth. 

DEAR  BROTHER  :  Just  a  line  before  we  start  for 
the  Rhone.  It  is  just  too  mean  of  you  to  poke 
fun  at  me  because  I  made  a  P.S.  of  my  statement 
that  I  had  no  postscript.  Glad  to  hear  that  the  foun- 
dations for  the  factory  have  been  completed.  Agnes 
and  you  must  be  terribly  busy  with  your  building 
projects.  I  presume  we,  too,  will  be  very  busy  after 
consulting  with  the  Duke.  Etienne  tells  me  his 
uncle  proposes  to  practically  rebuild  the  chateau. 

GLADYS. 

P.S. — I  notice  you  write  more  about  Agnes  than 
about  yourself,  and  never  a  word  about  Alicia.  Take 
care — beware ! 

P.P.S. — How  do  you  like  that  for  a  postscript? 


MORE  LETTERS  FROM  GLADYS    325 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MORE  LETTERS  FROM  GLADYS 

Belle-Riviere  sur  Rhone,  January  ist. 
HAROLD:  Happy  New  Year  to  you 
and  Agnes,  and  many,  many  thanks  for  the 
beautiful  New  Year's  greetings  each  of  you  sent  me 
and  which  I  received  yesterday  together  with  your 
dear  letters.  I  regret  to  hear  you  are  having  such 
a  hard  winter,  and  that  it  will  prevent  the  comple- 
tion of  the  factory  before  July  4th.  You  intend,  you 
write,  to  start  the  machinery  on  that  day.  That's  a 
good  idea — for  the  Armytage  Co-operative  Printing 
Press  Company  (have  I  got  the  name  right?)  to 
begin  operations  on  the  day  of  Independence.  I 
sincerely  hope  that  the  object  lesson  you-  intend  to 
teach  will  be  taken  to  heart  by  every  employer  of 
labor.  I  presume,  though  you  do  not  say  so,  that 
Agnes  will  play  as  prominent  a  part  in  the  dedica- 


326       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

tion  of  the  works  as  she  did  at  the  laying  of  the 
corner-stone.  My  last  letter  crossed  yours,  but  you 
have  received  it  by  this  time  and  read  my  very  perti- 
nent P.S.  It  is  a  sister's  right  to  warn  her  brother 
when  he  has  a  pretty  stenographer  in  his  employ, 
and  I  shall  continue  to  exercise  that  right  in  my 
future  letters  whenever  I  think  it  necessary  to  do  so. 
I  know  somebody  who  would  give  her  little  finger 
to  stand  in  her  shoes,  but  I  mention  no  names. 

Now  for  my  news.  We  reached  Aries  about  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  2ist  of  last  month. 
At  the  station  we  found  awaiting  us  an  old  post' 
chaise  such  as  Marie  Antoinette  might  have  used  in 
the  days  before  the  French  Revolution.  Etienne 
affirms  that  it  has  been  in  the  family  a  longer  time 
than  that.  It  was  furbished  up  for  the  occasion  and 
had  four  horses  harnessed  to  it.  A  coachman  in  the 
Belle-Riviere  livery  sat  on  the  high  box,  holding  the 
reins ;  a  postilion  was  perched  on  one  of  the  horses ; 
there  were  two  outriders  on  horseback  ahead  of  the 
vehicle,  and  two  followers,  similarly  mounted,  be- 
hind. The  porters  at  th£  depot  disposed  of  our  bag- 
gage on  top  of  the  coaCh ;  Etienne  assisted  me  up  the 
high,  awkward  steps  of  the  vehicle  and  then  entered 


MORE  LETTERS  FROM  GLADYS     327 

it  himself.  The  postilion  blew  his  horn,  the  driver 
cracked  his  whip,  and  the  cavalcade  was  off  for 
Belle-Riviere,  five  miles  to  the  north.  It  is  a  beau- 
tiful country  of  vine-clad  hills  and  green  valleys 
even  in  winter  time — what  must  it  be  in  the  summer  ? 
I  was  enchanted  with  the  scenery  and  did  not  mind 
that  Etienne  did  not  speak  to  me  and  seemed  to  grow 
glum  the  nearer  he  got  to  his  birthplace.  Out  of 
his  beloved  Paris  it  is  simply  the  case  of  the  fish  out 
of  the  water  over  again. 

Belle-Riviere  is  really  a  grand  estate,  and  after 
entering  the  domain  you  ride  fully  two  miles  through 
a  forest  of  magnificent  oaks  before  you  reach  the 
chateau  itself,  crowning  a  peak  overlooking  the  beau- 
tiful river  which  gives  the  name  to  the  family.  What 
I  could  not  help  observing,  however,  even  on  this 
first  view,  was  the  air  of  neglect  and  decay  which 
rested  on  the  forest,  on  the  parks  surrounding  the 
chateau,  and  on  the  chateau  itself.  I  realized  that 
it  needed  a  mint  of  money  to  keep  up  the  appear- 
ance of  the  place,  without  regard  to  any  reconstruc- 
tion, and  I  know  now  that,  prior  to  my  marriage, 
there  was  no  income  except  from  a  few  tenant-farms 


328       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

and  from  the  hotel  in  the  Faubourg,  converted  into 
an  apartment  house  and  occupied  by  four  families. 

As  our  cavalcade  rounded  the  last  curve  of  the 
path  and  the  postilion  gave  a  louder  fanfare  on 
his  horn,  we  drove  between  two  lines  of  peasants  of 
the  district,  men,  women  and  children,  all  attired  in 
the  quaint  Provencal  costume.  Amid  their  shouts 
of  welcome  and  a  shower  of  flowers  scattered  by 
them,  we  drove  up  before  the  portals  of  the  chateau. 
There,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  servitor,  almost  as 
ancient  as  himself,  stood  the  Duke  de  Belle-Riviere 
to  receive  us.  You  have  seen  Edwin  Booth  as  Car- 
dinal Richelieu;  divest  the  character  of  his  clerical 
robes  and  replace  them  with  a  court-dress  of  the  time 
of  Louis  XVIII  and  you  will  have  a  perfect  picture 
of  the  Duke  as  he  came  forward  to  kiss  my  hand 
when  I  had  alighted  on  the  marble  terrace. 

"Welcome  to  Belle-Riviere,  its  new  chatelaine," 
he  said  with  a  courtliness  of  demeanor  that  no 
American  can  hope  to  attain.  "Welcome,  my 
niece  bien-aimee,  who  will  be  to  me  like  a  daughter." 
Then  he  kissed  me  on  the  forehead. 

I  confess  I  felt  a  thrill  of  pride.     It  was  worth 


329 

the  payment  of  my  dowry,  if  barter  it  was,  to  be 
thus  saluted  and  received. 

My  letter  has  grown  to  such  length  that  I  must 
pause  here  with  a  "Continued  in  our  next,"  as  they 
put  to  serial  stories. 

GLADYS. 


Belle-Riviere,  January  8th. 

DEAR  HAROLD:  I  am  fully  installed  chatelaine 
of  Belle-Riviere.  From  the  Duke  down  to  the  hum- 
blest menial  all  do  homage  to  my  lightest  wish.  My 
head  would  surely  be  turned  if  I  could  only  divest 
myself  of  this  one  thought — am  I  being  fairly  wor- 
shiped, or  is  it  my  millions?  How  much  of  good, 
honest,  American  sincerity  is  there  beneath  all  this 
show  of  obsequiousness  which  verges  on  servility? 

The  Christmas  festivities,  fetes  de  Noel,  as  they 
call  it,  were  really  beautiful.  They  began  the  very  day 
after  our  arrival  and  lasted  until  New  Year.  Dur- 
ing the  daytime  there  were  masquerade  processions 
through  the  valleys  of  the  Rhone,  in  which  the  en- 
tire populace  joined,  dancing  the  farandole,  and  scat- 
tering flowers  and  confetti.  It  was  like  carnival 


330       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

time  in  New  Orleans.  At  night  there  were  sere- 
nades under  the  windows  of  the  chateau,  and  I  heard 
the  quaint  Provencal  airs  of  the  troubadours  played 
on  shepherds'  pipes  and  sung  in  the  native  patois. 
It  was  as  if  the  hands  on  time's  dial  had  been  set 
back,  and  the  days  of  chivalry  were  the  realities  of 
life,  and  the  closing  days  of  the  nineteenth  century 
a  nightmare  of  brutal  commercialism. 

Etienne  confesses  to  me  that  he  is  suffering  from 
the  most  horrible  ennui.  Naturally,  what  strikes 
me  as  novel  and  picturesque  is  an  old  story  to  him, 
and  I  know  that  he  is  longing  to  get  back  to  the 
gay  boulevards  of  Paris.  He  finds  his  greatest  dis- 
traction in  hunting.  He  is  out  with  his  gun  and 
dogs  every  day  with  members  of  the  surrounding 
gentry,  and  he  comes  home  every  night  so  tired  out 
that  he  goes  to  bed  immediately  after  dinner,  leaving 
me  to  entertain  the  Duke,  who,  by  the  way,  has 
begun  to  broach  the  subject  of  the  rebuilding  of  the 
chateau.  I  wonder  if  it  is  every  young  wife's  ex- 
perience that  her  husband  falls  asleep  after  his  even- 
ing meal  ?  GLADYS. 

P.S. — You  write  that  I  am  absurd  in  my  innuen- 


MORE  LETTERS  FROM  GLADYS    331 

does,  and  that  there  is  nothing  between  you  and 
Agnes  except  the  friendly  relations  between  a  man 
and  his  private  secretary,  who  happens  to  be  a  charm- 
ing young  lady  and  a  friend  of  the  family.  Notts 
verrons,  as  we  say  in  France. 


Belle-Riviere,  February  3d. 
DEAR  BROTHER:  Etienne  has  left  it  entirely  to 
the  Duke  and  myself  to  determine  the  character  and 
expense  of  what  the  Duke  terms  "the  revival  of  the 
glories  of  Belle-Riviere."  It  is  to  be  done  with  my 
dowry,  Etienne  says,  and  hence  it  is  no  affair  of  his, 
except,  he  insinuated,  apparently  as  an  afterthought, 
that  under  the  laws  of  France  a  husband  has  the 
right  to  set  aside  a  portion  of  the  dot  brought  him 
by  his  wife  sufficient  to  meet  his  personal  expenses. 
I  know  nothing  about  the  laws  of  France  and  care 
less,  but  it  is  evident  that  I  am  expected  to  support 
my  husband,  which  would  sound  very  strange  in 
American  ears.  I  do  not  object.  When  I  handed 
Etienne  the  check  I  intended  that  he  should  do  with 
it  what  he  pleased.  Only  he  need  not  have  quoted 


332        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

the  law  to  me,  and,  I  must  confess,  he  is  not  nearly 
so  gallant  or  so  attentive  as  he  was  in  Paris. 

Excuse  this  short  letter ;  I  do  not  feel  in  a  humor 
to  write.  GLADYS. 


Belle-Riviere,  March  5th. 

DEAR  HAROLD:  So  you  have  met  Alicia  again, 
and  she  sends  her  love  to  me.  You  never  men- 
tioned that  she  had  gone  to  Florida  for  the  winter 
and  that  you  had  not  seen  her  since  before  Christmas. 
How  does  she  look? — as  beautiful  as  ever?  It  was 
at  a  ball  given  by  Mrs.  Van  in  honor  of  her  return, 
you  write,  that  you  met  her.  Did  you  dance  many 
dances  with  her?  Let  me  make  a  guess  and  see  if 
I'm  right:  you  never  told  Agnes  about  the  invi- 
tation, and  she  was  not  present  at  the  ball.  I'd 
give  something  to  have  seen  Alicia's  face  if  Agnes 
had  been  present.  And  I  can  imagine  your  face 
when  you  read  these  lines.  You  can't  bite  my  head 
off,  brother  mine,  with  3,000  miles  of  ocean  between 
us;  but,  there,  I  won't  tease  you  any  more. 

I'm  letting  the  Duke  follow  out  his  own  sweet 


MORE  LETTERS  FROM  GLADYS     333 

will  in  regard  to  the  rebuilding  operations,  which 
include  not  only  the  entire  reconstruction  of  the 
chateau,  but  also  the  tearing  down  of  the  hotel  in 
the  Faubourg  and  replacing  it  with  a  new  building. 
The  parks  are  to  be  laid  out  in  the  style  of  Italian 
gardens,  with  marble  terraces  and  steps  leading  down 
to  central  basins,  where  artistic  fountains  will  spurt 
forth  cascades  of  water.  The  forest  is  to  be  trimmed 
and  new  paths  laid  out.  It  will  be  all  very  grand 
and  very  magnificent,  but  it  will  cost  a  great  deal 
of  money.  When  I  delicately  suggested  that  fact 
to  the  Duke,  he,  with  an  elaborate  bow,  replied : 

"Oh,  Madame  la  Marquise,  with  the  dollars  of 
America  and  the  artistic  taste  of  Europe  what  won- 
ders can  we  not  achieve !" 

I  am  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  the  old  gentle- 
man is  kept  alive  by  the  thought  that  he  has  the 
spending  of  my  money  in  order  to  realize  what  is  un- 
doubtedly the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart — the  restora- 
tion of  the  family  estate  in  all  its  former  grandeur. 
He  has  hinted  to  me  that  he  has  just  one  other  wish, 
and  that  is  to  live  to  see  an  heir  born  to  inherit  the 
title  of  the  Duke  de  Belle-Riviere  after  his  and  the 
Marquis'  death.  GLADYS. 


334        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

P.S. — I  hear  Czerny  is  to  give  another  series  of 
concerts  in  Paris,  commencing  in  April.  Heigh-ho ! 
I'm  beginning  to  get  a  little  tired  of  all  the  decayed 
grandeur  with  which  I  am  surrounded. 


Paris,  April 
DEAR  BROTHER  MINE  :     Your  last  letter  was  for- 

X 

warded  to  me  here  from  Belle- Riviere.  So  my 
guess  was  right.  Agnes  was  not  at  the  ball.  There 
would  have  been  no  use  to  have  invited  her,  you 
state,  as  she  would  have  declined  to  appear  in  such 
high  society,  and  didn't  have  a  dress  fit  to  wear,  to 
say  nothing  of  jewels.  Pooh,  pooh!  "Tell  that 
to  the  marines!"  to  drop  into  good,  wholesome 
American  slang.  You  say  you  danced  twice  with 
Alicia  during  the  evening.  How  kind !  Two  dances 
out  of  about  twenty  on  the  program ! 

You'll  be  no  doubt  surprised  to  learn  that  we  are 
in  Paris.  Etienne  was  the  first  to  suggest  our  leav- 
ing Belle-Riviere.  He  said  he  couldn't  stand  it  in 
the  country  any  longer;  he  must  get  back  to  Paris 
or  die.  I  secretly  shared  his  sentiments.  When  he 


MORE  LETTERS  FROM  GLADYS     335 

mentioned  the  matter  to  the  Duke  the  latter  pre- 
tended to  be  greatly  distressed,  but  the  old  humbug, 
I  believe,  didn't  care  a  particle  whether  we  stayed 
or  went.  The  building  operations  are  on,  and  all 
day  he's  out  watching  the  workmen  or  consulting 
with  the  architects.  We  really  no  longer  exist  for 
him.  The  preliminary  estimate  of  the  expense  is 
six  million  francs,  which  will  make  quite  a  hole  in 
my  ten  million  francs  dowry,  without  considering 
the  drafts  made  on  it  by  my  husband,  dear  in  more 
senses  than  one. 

Since  our  arrival  in  Paris,  Etienne  and  I  have 
come  to  what  is  known  in  diplomacy  as  a  modus 
vivendi.  Gradually,  without  a  word  being  mentioned 
by  either  of  us  on  the  subject,  we  have  come  to  the 
mutual  realization  that  there  is  very  little  love  lost 
between  us.  Our  marriage  has  been  a  fair  barter. 
He  made  me  a  Marquise  and  I  gave  him  two  million 
dollars.  Neither  of  us  has  any  right  to  complain — 
only,  God  knows,  I  tried  my  best  to  learn  to  love 
him.  We  are  good  friends,  good  comrades,  and 
have  tacitly  come  to  an  agreement  each  to  allow  the 
other  the  utmost  liberty  of  action  consistent  with 
honor.  I  find  that  many  husbands  and  wives  in  our 


336       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

social  set  in  Paris  live  the  same  way  and  that  it  is 
regarded  as  the  normal  condition  of  modern  mar- 
riages. He  goes  to  his  clubs  and  the  races,  which 
have  begun,  while  I  go  to  the  art  galleries  and  the 
matinees.  Sometimes  we  dine  out  together  at  a  table 
d'hote  restaurant,  and  then  take  in  the  opera  or 
theater.  If  we  are  seen  walking  together  on  the 
boulevard  all  Paris  figuratively  claps  its  hands  and 
exclaims :  "That  M.  le  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere 
and  Mme.  la  Marquise,  what  a  model  pair!" 

So  you  are  sure  now  that  the  factory  will  be 
ready  by  July  4th  ?  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  How  soon 
after  you  begin  operations  will  you  have  your  first 
press  ready?  Have  you  tried  to  get  any  advance 
orders  yet  ?  I've  received  a  lovely  letter  from  Agnes, 
in  which  she  writes  about  you.  She  says — wouldn't 
you  like  to  know  ?  What  would  you  give  for  a  peep 
into  the  letter  ?  GLADYS. 

P.S. — Czerny  begins  his  concerts  next  Monday. 
I've  reserved  a  box  for  all  the  afternoon  recitals 
during  the  engagement. 

P. P.S. — The  other  wish  hinted  at  by  the  Duke  is 
likely  to  be  realized. 


MORE  LETTERS  FROM  GLADYS     337 

Cablegram  from  Harold  to  the  Marquis  de  Belle- 
Riviere  : 

New  York,  June  3Oth. 

Have  not  heard  from  Gladys  for  over  two  months. 
Is  she  sick?    Answer. 


From  the  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere  to  Harold: 

Paris,  June  3Oth. 

Gladys  has  been  at  death's  door,  but  is  fortu- 
nately recovering.    She  will  write. 


338       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

LEAVES    FROM    GLADYS*    JOURNAL 

Paris,  July  I5th. 

I  HAVE  written  to  Harold  to  show  that  I  am  still 
alive  and  to  allay  his  and  Agnes'  fears,  but 
only  to  you,  my  diary,  my  second  self,  dare  I  con- 
fide the  tumultuous  thoughts  heaving  in  my  bosom. 
Oh,  that  I  had  some  dear  sister  to  make  my  confi- 
dante! But  I  must  unbosom  my  heart  or  I  shall 
go  mad — so  I  will  pour  the  story,  just  as  I  have 
lived  through  it,  into  the  secret  pages  of  this  book. 

.  .  .  Was  it  because  I  was  so  constant  an  at- 
tendant on  Czerny's  concerts  that  he  noticed  it  and 
kept  his  dark,  soulful  eyes  fixed  on  me  as  he  evoked 
those  divine  strains  from  his  instrument,  or  was  it 
mere  self-conceit  on  my  part?  I  do  not  know;  I 
do  not  care.  I  felt  an  irresistible  longing  to  speak 


LEAVES  FROM  GLADYS'  JOURNAL  339 

to  him,  if  only  to  congratulate  him  on  his  genius. 

M.  B ,  a  friend  of  Etienne's,  dropped  into  my 

box  to  pay  his  respects  to  me.  I  told  him  what  was  in 
my  mind,  and,  as  he  happened  to  be  an  intimate 
friend  of  Czerny's,  he  readily  promised  to  take  me 
on  the  stage  after  the  performance  and  present  the 
artist  to  me.  He  also  told  me  some  personal  details 
about  Czerny.  He  is  a  Hungarian  only  by  descent 
and  was  born  on  the  great  East  Side  of  New  York, 
his  parents  having  emigrated  to  America  shortly 
after  their  marriage.  His  father  was  a  musician, 
too,  and  early  recognized  that  his  son's  talent  far 
exceeded  his  own.  He  taught  him  all  he  could  and 
then  sent  him  to  Vienna,  where  he  became  a  pupil 
of  the  great  Joachim.  He  gave  his  first  concert 
when  he  was  barely  twenty  years  old,  and  his  success 
was  immediate  and  overwhelming.  Then  my  in- 
formant surprised  me  with  the  statement  that  Czerny 
had  been  married  and  divorced.  Shortly  after  his 
first  appearance  in  public,  and  while  he  was  still  a 
mere  boy,  a  great  actress,  ten  years  older  than  he, 
made  violent  love  to  him.  The  lad's  head  was 
turned  and  he  married  her.  She  led  him  a  devil's 
dance.  Cancelling  all  her  own  engagements,  she 


340        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

acted  as  his  manager  and  squandered  his  money  as 
fast  as  he  could  earn  it.  Her  life  was  a  reproach 
to  him,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  had  become 
thoroughly  disgusted  with  her.  A  more  than  usually 
outrageous  piece  of  conduct  on  her  part  gave  him  the 
opportunity  to  force  her  to  consent  to  a  divorce  and 
to  break  the  chain  which  had  become  galling.  It 
was  this  episode  in  his  life  which  has  given  him  the 
habitual  melancholy  look  on  his  face  and  has  made 
him  somewhat  of  a  woman-hater.  ,  .  . 

I  never  suspected  that  I  had  a  tinge  of  romance 
in  my  nature,  but  the  story  I  had  heard  increased 
my  desire  to  make  Czerny's  acquaintance.  I  found 
him  shy  and  awkward  when  he  was  presented  to  me ; 
he  answered  me  in  monosyllables,  and  it  was  only 
when  I  stopped  praising  him  and  praised,  instead, 
the  music  he  had  been  playing  that  he  became  ani- 
mated in  his  conversation.  I  made  him  promise  that 
he  would  pay  me  a  visit  some  afternoon,  and  we 
would  have  tea  together  and  talk  of  his  favorite  com- 
posers. 

.     .     .     Etienne  was  present  when  Czerny  came 


LEAVES  FROM  GLADYS'  JOURNAL  341 

and  cordially  welcomed  him  to  our  apartments ;  then 
he  excused  himself  on  account  of  some  appointment 
at  his  club  and  left  us  alone  together.  We  talked 
of  music,  then  of  our  beloved  New  York.  How 
sweet  it  sounded  in  my  ears  to  hear  once  more  our 
native  English!  We  became  as  children,  again 
romping  in  the  streets  or  meandering  through  Cen- 
tral Park.  He  told  me  he  had  an  ineffable  longing 
to  revisit  New  York;  that  this  was  his  last  tour  in 
Europe,  and  that  he  had  already  arranged  for  a 
series  of  concerts  to  be  given  in  the  United  States. 

.  .  .  That  first  visit  led  to  others,  and  soon  it 
became  so  that  he  dropped  in  to  see  me  every  after- 
noon when  there  was  no  recital.  On  concert  after- 
noons I  was  always  in  my  box.  But  I  wish  to  put 
down  here  in  this  journal  that  no  word  was  spoken 
by  either  of  us  that  anybody  could  not  have  listened 
to;  there  was  no  act  that  could  not  have  been  wit- 
nessed by  the  whole  world.  .  .  . 

Oh,  the  day — the  day  when  the  proof  of  my  hus- 
band's perfidy  was  placed  in  my  hands !  Can  I  ever 


342        THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

forget  it?  Our  agreement  was  perfect  liberty  of  con- 
duct on  either  side  consistent  with  honor — and  he 
had  broken  the  terms  of  that  agreement ;  he  had  been 
dishonorable  to  me — to  the  respect  he  owed  the  name 
of  Belle-Riviere!  When,  with  letters  in  his  own 
handwriting  in  my  hand,  I  taxed  him  with  his  in- 
fidelities, he  only  laughed.  He  had  exchanged  one 
mistress  for  another,  he  cold-bloodedly  confessed, 
and  the  displaced  one  had  avenged  herself  by  sending 
me  the  incriminating  letters.  At  my  cry  of  out- 
raged dignity,  he  begged  me  to  remember  that  we 
were  living  in  France — not  in  the  United  States. 
Other  people,  other  morals !  He  had  his  mistresses 
and  I  had  my  violinist.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  They  tell  me  that  I  dropped  as  one  dead 
to  the  floor  and  my  life  was  despaired  of  until  a 
week  ago.  I  am  still  so  weak  that  I  can  scarcely 
hold  the  pen  with  which  I  am  writing  this.  I  never 
saw  my  child — it  never  lived.  They  have  buried 
the  little  body  in  the  Pere  la  Chaise,  and  as  soon  as  I 
am  able  I  will  kneel  at  the  grave  and  bedew  it  with 
tears.  In  it  lie  buried  all  my  hopes  of  happiness  in 
marriage. 


LEAVES  FROM  GLADYS'  JOURNAL  343 

August  4th. 

It  is  all  settled  between  us.  Etienne  consents  to  a 
divorce  on  condition  that  I  will  not  claim  the  unspent 
portion  of  my  dowry.  I  laughed  a  bitter  laugh 
when  he  made  this  proposition.  The  Duke  has  al- 
ready spent  or  contracted  liabilities  for  six  million 
francs,  and  my  husband  has  made  ducks  and  drakes 
of  the  rest.  But  let  it  all  go,  together  with  the 
title  of  Marquise  now  and  Duchess  hereafter.  I 
will  be  free,  free  again  to  return  to  my  own  America, 
to  be  once  more  clasped  in  my  brother's  arms.  Poor 
Harold!  his  last  letters  are  discouraging,  too.  The 
first  presses  are  nearing  completion,  and  he  seems 
to  be  unable  to  obtain  an  advance  order  for  them. 
He  writes  that  it  looks  as  if  there  was  a  conspiracy 
to  convert  his  noble  project  into  an  utter  failure! 
Will  he,  too,  have  sacrificed  his  millions  for  an  idle 
dream  of  reforming  the  world,  as  I  have  sacrificed 
mine  on  the  altar  of  vanity? 

September  loth. 

I  received  a  letter  from  the  Duke  de  Belle-Riviere, 
and  also  a  cablegram  from  Harold  urging  me  to 
return  at  once  to  New  York,  if  I  am  able  to  stand 


344       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

the  voyage.  The  Duke's  letter  is  very  courteous 
and  full  of  regrets  that  I  have  taken  the  decision  to 
separate  myself  from  the  illustrious  family  of  Belle- 
Riviere,  but  he  does  not  write  a  word  urging  me  to 
change  my  mind.  I  know  that  the  physicians  have 
told  him  that  I  can  never  become  a  mother  again, 
and — oh,  it  is  horrible  to  put  it  down  even  in  this 
diary — he  has  no  further  use  for  me.  I  verily  be- 
lieve the  old  monomaniac,  for  that  he  really  is,  is 
already  speculating  that  Etienne,  as  soon  as  he  is 
rid  of  me,  will  marry  some  other  heiress  who  will 
provide  more  funds  to  rebuild  the  chateau  and  pre- 
sent an  heir  to  the  dukedom.  Oh,  I  want  to  go 
home !  I  want  to  get  back  to  New  York !  I  can 
stand  the  voyage — I  will  stand  the  voyage.  If  my 
lawyers  would  only  hurry  up  that  divorce.  .  .  . 

October  ist. 

Thank  God,  I  have  it — the  decree  of  divorce!  I 
actually  kissed  the  document  with  delight  as  I  re- 
ceived it.  They  do  these  things  more  quickly  and 
quietly  in  this  country  than  in  my  own.  There  has 
not  been  more  than  an  occasional  paragraph  pub- 
lished in  the  papers  about  it.  I  shudder  to  think 


LEAVES  FROM  GLADYS'  JOURNAL  345 

of  the  columns  and  the  pictures  that  would  have  been 
printed  in  the  New  York  papers  if  the  divorce  had 
been  obtained  there.  Nothing-  now  can  keep  me 
here,  I  shall  engage  passage  on  the  first  outgoing 
steamer ;  and  then  for  home,  for  Harold  and  Agnes ! 


October  5th. 

I  am  on  board  a  steamer  of  the  French  Line;  the 
same  vessel,  I  note  with  a  smile  of  bitter  irony,  on 
which  I  madt  my  wedding-trip,  not  quite  a  year 
ago.  My  dream  did  not  last  long.  .  .  . 

Czernj  is  a  fellow -passenger;  he  goes  to  begin  his 
concert  tour  in  the  United  States.  He  will  give  his 
first  recital  at  Steinway  Hall  in  New  York.  It  was 
a  mutual  surprise  for  us  to  see  each  other.  He 
knows  my  blighted  marriage  romance  as  I  know  his. 
He  is  very  kind  and  gentle  to  me,  and  very  sympa- 
thetic. 

October  loth. 

The  outlook  on  the  masthead  has  just  cried  "Land- 
ho !"  We  have  sighted  the  Fire  Island  light.  Soon 
— soon  I  shall  be  home — home,  sweet  home ! 


346       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  ONE  THING  PRECIOUS 

HPHE  Armytage  Co-operative  Printing  Press  Com- 
-*  pany  started  operations  on  July  4th  with  all 
the  eclat  of  dedicatory  and  patriotic  speeches  in  the 
afternoon,  and  a  display  of  fireworks  in  the  evening. 
By  eight-hour  shifts  of  day  and  night  work  and  ex- 
tra help  in  the  foundry  to  compensate  for  the  still 
shorter  hours  of  labor,  they  managed  to  finish  by 
October  ist  six  presses,  each  capable  of  printing 
48,000  complete  papers  an  hour.  They  were  magnifi- 
cent specimens  of  handicraft  and  were  indeed  labors 
of  love,  as  the  men  sang  while  they  worked. 

Harold  had  supervised  everything,  managed 
everything,  working  and  overworking  not  only  him- 
self, but  also  Agnes.  He  himself  did  not  mind  labor- 
ing twice  eight  hours  a  day,  and,  as  for  Agnes,  with 
her,  too,  it  was  a  labor  of  love.  As  the  presses 


THE  ONE  THING  PRECIOUS        347 

neared  completion  he  personally  solicited  orders  for 
their  sale.  There  were  about  one  hundred  daily 
newspapers  in  the  United  States  which  could  use 
presses  of  that  size  and  capacity,  and  he  either  saw 
or  was  in  communication  with  the  proprietors  of 
every  single  one.  He  knew  they  were  overhauling 
their  press-rooms  and  increasing  their  plants,  and  as 
some  of  them  had  published  in  their  papers  that  they 
would  buy  a  press  or  two  from  the  new  company,  he 
thought  the  presses  would  go  off  like  the  traditional 
hot-cakes. 

But  never  was  a  man  so  deceived  in  his  life.  He 
used  all  his  powers  of  argument;  he  spoke  about 
the  basic  principle  of  equal  justice  to  all  on  which 
the  company  was  founded;  he  referred  to  the  fact 
that  while  the  men  worked  less  hours  and  received 
higher  pay,  he  could  offer  the  presses  at  a  cheaper 
price  than  they  had  ever  before  been  sold;  he  fairly 
pleaded  and  begged  for  an  order;  but  all  in  vain. 
The  very  newspaper  proprietors  who  had  so  highly 
lauded  his  efforts,  and  had  promised  him  their 
patronage,  shamelessly  went  back  on  their  word. 
After  all  sorts  of  evasions  about  the  presses  not 
being  just  the  right  size  or  capacity  for  their  re- 


348       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

quirements,  they  came  out  with  the  truth ;  they  did 
not  give  him  an  order  because  they  were  afraid. 

The  United  States  Printing  Press  Company,  of 
which  Silas  Chubb  was  president,  had  absorbed  all 
the  larger  works  in  the  country.  They  held  chattel 
mortgages  on  presses  previously  purchased  on  credit, 
which  they  could  foreclose  at  a  moment's  notice. 
They  had  "a  gentlemen's  agreement"  with  certain 
type-founders,  makers  of  stereotyping  machinery,  ink 
manufacturers  and  paper  mills,  by  which  these  latter 
would  not  supply  any  newspaper  with  their  prod- 
ucts if  it  bought  its  presses  from  any  other  concern 
than  the  United  States  Company,  and,  in  turn,  the 
company  would  not  sell  any  press  to  a  newspaper 
that  bought  its  type,  its  machinery,  its  ink  or  its 
paper-stock  elsewhere.  There  was  no  writing  to 
prove  that  such  an  arrangement  had  been  entered 
into;  it  was  simply  a  gentlemen's  agreement  made  at 
a  dinner  over  a  bottle  of  wine  and  executed  by  winks 
and  nods,  instead  of  by  signature  and  seal.  But  the 
newspapers  knew  all  about  it  in  their  business  con- 
nection, though  never  a  word  or  a  hint  did  they  print 
concerning  it  in  their  news  columns.  They  knew  that 
it  was  a  battle  to  destroy  the  co-operative  principle 


THE  ONE  THING  PRECIOUS        349 

in  manufacture  and  commerce,  and  that  tens  of  mil- 
lions were  arrayed  in  the  fight  against  Harold's 
puny  two  millions.  If  they  bought  Harold's  presses 
it  would  be  like  lending  aid  and  comfort  to  the  ene- 
my, and  any  newspaper  that  would  do  so  would  be 
destroyed  along  with  the  Armytage  Co-operative 
Company,  which,  with  their  business  perspicacity, 
they  knew  was  foredoomed  to  failure.  Noble,  high- 
sounding  principles  were  all  very  fine,  but  self- 
preservation  was  the  first  law  of  nature,  even  if  the 
newspapers  had  not  also  been  bribed  with  offers  to 
duplicate  any  press  which  Harold  offered  for  sale  at 
one  half  the  price  he  asked  for  it. 

He  gradually  realized  the  extent  of  the  trade  con- 
spiracy against  him  which  had  been  hatched 
by  the  fertile,  artful  brain  of  Silas  Chubb,  hence  his 
discouraging  letters  to  his  sister  alluded  to  by  her 
in  her  journal.  On  the  very  day  he  received  the  tele- 
gram stating  that  the  vessel  on  which  she  was  re- 
turning had  been  sighted,  the  last  bitter  drop  was 
poured  into  his  cup  of  disappointment.  He  learned 
that  the  loyalty  and  fidelity  of  his  own  men  had  been 
undermined.  Emissaries  had  secretly  gone  among 
them  and  showed  them  how  impossible  it  was  for 


350       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Harold  to  sell  the  presses  already  finished,  much 
more  to  get  orders  for  future  work;  that  his  capital 
was  sunk  in  a  business  which  was  a  dead  loss  from 
the  outset  and  which  in  a  very  short  time  would  be 
bankrupt ;  that  no  one  would  extend  any  credit  to  a 
company  which  had  no  market  for  its  output.  The 
men  owed  it  to  themselves  and  to  their  families  to 
leave  the  sinking  ship  before  it  would  drag  them 
down  with  it  to  destruction.  And  then  would  come 
an  offer  of  employment  with  the  United  States  Com- 
pany, with  assured  union  wages  and  hours  and  a 
promise  of  steady  work  for  years.  To  the  credit  of 
the  workingmen  it  must  be  said  that  some  of  these 
emissaries  were  promptly  kicked  out  of  the  house 
and  received  only  broken  heads  for  their  pains ;  but 
it  was  not  so  in  all  cases.  Human  nature  is  the  same 
whether  one  is  a  millionaire  proprietor  of  a  news- 
paper or  a  shoveler  of  sand  in  the  casting-room  of  a 
foundry.  Enough  men  promised  to  forsake  the  co- 
operative company  to  make  it  extremely  difficult,  if 
not  impossible,  to  continue  the  works. 

It  was  a  very  sad  Harold,  and  a  very  sober-looking 
Agnes,  that  came  down  that  afternoon  to  welcome 
home  Gladys  as  the  steamer  was  warped  alongside 


THE  ONE  THING  PRECIOUS        351 

its  pier.  She  stood  on  the  deck,  clad  all  in  mourning 
for  the  babe  that  had  never  lived,  and  beside  her 
stood  the  violin  virtuoso.  She  gave  a  scream  of  joy 
as  she  recognized  the  two  on  the  pier,  and  eagerly 
pointed  them  out  to  Czerny.  She  was  among  the 
first  to  run  down  the  gangway,  and  brother  and  sis- 
ter bedewed  each  other  with  tears  as  they  were 
clasped  in  each  other's  embrace.  Then  Agnes  came 
in  for  her  share  of  the  kissing  and  hugging,  and 
Czerny  was  introduced.  He  begged  to  be  excused 
from  entering  their  carriage,  after  the  custom-house 
formalities  had  been  gone  through,  but  promised 
Gladys  to  visit  her  as  he  had  done  in  Paris.  Then 
the  three,  reunited  after  a  year's  parting,  drove  to 
the  Armytage  residence,  where  Gladys  received  a 
second  cordial  welcome  from  all  the  servants.  It 
had  now  grown  evening,  and  after  some  changes  in 
her  toilet  Gladys  sat  down  to  dinner  with  her  brother 
and  Agnes,  with  a  lighter  heart  and  happier  feeling 
than  since  the  beginning  of  her  illness.  Both  Harold 
and  Agnes  observed  her  altered  looks  and  her  physi- 
cal weakness,  but  wisely  forebore  from  commenting 
on  them.  She,  too,  noticed  that  they  seemed  worried- 


352       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

looking,  and  when  the  meal  was  over  and  they  had 
repaired  to  the  parlor,  she  spoke  about  it. 

"Ah,  Harold,  you,  too,  have  your  troubles.  Your 
recent  letters  fairly  frightened  me.  Is  there  no 
prospect  of  success  in  your  business  ?" 

"I  fear  none,"  he  gloomily  replied. 

"A  fine  pair  we  are,"  she  said  with  a  sad  smile; 
"I  have  wasted  two  million  dollars  in  a  foolish  dream 
of  pride,  and  you  an  equal  amount  for  at  least  a 
noble  cause." 

"Harold  and  I  have  talked  the  matter  over  very 
seriously,"  said  Agnes,  "and  we  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  is  his  duty  for  the  men's  own  sake 
to  dissolve  the  company  and  close  the  works.  That 
will  set  them  at  liberty  to  find  work  elsewhere.  The 
plant  and  the  presses  will  have  to  be  sold  at  a  tre- 
mendous sacrifice " 

"I  care  not  for  the  money  loss,"  interrupted 
Harold.  "There  will  be  enough  left  to  support  us 
in  a  more  modest  way  than  we  have  been  living. 
We  do  not  need  an  establishment  on  Fifth  Avenue, 
nor  fine  horses  and  carriages,  nor  a  retinue  of  serv- 
ants. We  do  need  happiness,  and  that  will  be  ours." 

He  gave  Agnes  a  look  which  made  that  young 


THE  ONE  THING  PRECIOUS        353 

lady  crimson  with  blushes  even  in  the  semi-darkness 
of  the  big  room,  in  which  there  was  no  light  except 
the  warm  glow  of  the  coals  in  the  open  grate. 

"The  disappointment  I  feel,"  he  continued,  "is 
for  the  failure  of  my  plans.  I  have  tried  to  solve 
this  terrible  problem  of  the  persistence  of  poverty 
and  wretchedness,  of  misery  and  vice  in  the  midst 
of  plenty,  and  I  have  failed.  Surely — surely  there 
is  a  solution!  God  did  not  intend  that  some  men 
should  possess  inordinate  wealth  with  all  the  power 
it  implies,  while  other  men  should  bedew  with  tears 
the  hard  crusts  they  earn  by  the  sweat  of  their  brows. 
Some  day  the  light  will  shine  in  on  us,  and  then 
the  path  will  be  made  clear." 

In  accordance  with  his  resolve,  Harold  went  the 
next  day  to  the  works  to  summon  the  men  and  in- 
form them  that  he  could  no  longer  command  their 
services.  On  his  arrival  he  was  told  that  a  lady 
was  waiting  in  his  office  to  see  him.  It  could  not 
be  Agnes,  he  knew,  for  she  was  to  come  to  the 
office  later.  He  wondered  who  it  could  be.  Taking 
off  his  hat  and  overcoat,  he  left  them  in  the  ante- 
room and  entered  his  private  gffice,  closing  the,  door 


354 

behind  him.  At  his  entrance  the  visitor  rose  and 
faced  him. 

"Alicia!"  he  exclaimed  in  the  greatest  surprise. 
"You  here?" 

She  seemed  greatly  agitated  and  spoke  in  a  hur- 
ried, jerky  manner. 

"Yes,  it  is  I.  It  seems  horribly  unconventional 
for  me  to  come  to  you  alone,  in  your  office,  at  this 
hour  of  the  morning — but  what  do  I  care  for  eti- 
quette or  form  when  it  is  a  matter  of  life  or  death 
to  you  ?" 

"You  startle  me,  Alicia.  You  are  greatly  excited. 
Won't  you  be  seated  ?" 

"No,  no/'  she  declared.  "I  prefer  to  stand.  I 
can  talk  better  so.  Oh,  Harold,  your  interests  have 
been  dear  to  my  heart,  and  when  I  saw  how  my 
own  father  was  plotting  your  ruin  I  could  not  re- 
frain from  coming  to  warn  you." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  said,  "and  I  thank  you 
for  the  anxiety  you  display  in  my  behalf.  But  the 
news  you  bring  me  is  not  unknown  to  me.  I  have 
seen  your  father's  handiwork  in  the  obstacles  placed 
in  my  path." 

"But  you  do  not  know  the  worst,"  she  cried.  "Last 


THE  ONE  THING  PRECIOUS        355 

night  his  lawyer  was  at  our  house,  and  knowing  that 
the  matter  of  his  visit  concerned  you,  I  played  the 
eavesdropper  for  your  sake.  Father  has  bought  up 
whatever  outstanding  debts  you  were  obliged  to 
make.  In  some  way  his  lawyer  has  secured  a  writ 
of  attachment,  and  the  sheriff  is  to  be  here  to-day 
and  take  possession  of  the  works!" 

''Let  him  come,"  cried  Harold  defiantly.  "My 
affairs  have  reached  such  a  crisis  that  a  visit  from 
the  sheriff  has  no  terrors  for  me." 

"Oh,  Harold!  It  means  the  utter  ruin  of  your 
hopes,  the  blasting  of  your  noble  aspirations  to  aid 
your  fellow-men.  It  means  poverty,  if  not  disgrace, 
for  you  and  for  Gladys,  for  I  have  read  of  her  ar- 
rival yesterday  and  know  her  sad  story.  It  means 
so  much,  so  much  to  you — and  yet  I  can  save  you ; 
I  can  make  it  possible  for  you  to  realize  all  that  you 
set  out  to  perform — the  emancipation  of  the  working 
classes,  the " 

"You  can  do  this?"  he  interrupted,  grasping  her 
fcy  the  wrist.  "You,  Alicia?  Oh,  do  not  raise  any 
false  hopes  in  a  man  who  is  on  the  verge  of  despair ! 
If  you  can  show  me  the  way  to  crown  my  work  with 
success,  then  you  are  indeed  an  angel  of  mercy  to 
me!" 


356       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

"I  can  and  I  will,"  she  exclaimed.  "For  years 
back,  while  my  father  was  manager  of  your  father's 
works,  I  have  known  of  secret  speculations  he  made 
with  money  that  belonged  to  the  firm,  not  to  him.  I 
forced  him  to  make  me  his  partner,  and  as  he  heaped 
up  millions  so  did  I.  Oh,  Harold,  every  penny  I 
have  is  yours.  See,  on  my  knees  I  offer  all  to  you !" 

She  sank  on  her  knees  and  raised  her  hands  im- 
ploringly to  him. 

"You  will  make  this  sacrifice  for  me  ?"  he  cried  in 
the  utmost  surprise. 

"I  will  do  more,"  she  panted.  "I  will  threaten  my 
father  that  I  will  betray  him.  I  will  warn  him  that 
I  will  put  into  your  hands  the  proofs  that  will  send 
him  to  jail  as  a  common  thief,  if  he  does  not  cease 
his  persecutions  of  you,  if  he  does  not  remove  every 
obstacle  from  your  path,  if  he  does  not  facilitate 
every  effort  of  yours  to  make  your  company  success- 
ful. Oh,  Harold,"  she  continued,  almost  breathless- 
ly, "I  will  do  this  for  your  sake  because  I  love  you — 
because  I  have  always  loved  you  since  I  was  a  child 
— because  you  are  to  me  more  than  my  father,  more 
than  my  mother — more  than  my  God!" 


THE  ONE  THING  PRECIOUS"       357 

As  he  heard  these  words  and  saw  the  wild,  pas- 
sionate woman  groveling-  in  the  dust  before  him, 
the  light  of  hope  died  out  of  Harold's  eyes  and  a 
stern  expression  spread  over  his  face. 

"Rise,  Alicia,"  he  said,  taking  her  by  the  arms 
and  fairly  forcing  her  to  her  feet.  "It  is  not  meet 
for  any  one  to  kneel  except  to  his  Maker.  No  woman 
can  purchase  with  a  bribe  the  love  of  a  right-minded 
man ;  no  honorable  woman  would  want  to  do  so.  I 
could  not  take  the  millions  you  offer  me  without 
accepting  your  love.  I  would  not  accept  that  for  the 
millions  you  have,  because  I  have  no  love  to  give 
you  in  return.  No,  let  the  sheriff  come,  let  the  works 
be  shut  down,  let  your  father  keep  his  ill-gotten 
wealth,  let  all  my  aspirations  perish;  from  out  the 
wreck  and  ruin  I  will  save  the  one  thing  most  pre- 
cious to  me — the  true  love  of  a  true  woman !" 

There  was  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door.  Harold  ran 
and  opened  it.  There  stood  Agnes.  Taking  her 
right  hand,  he  led  her  forward. 

"Alicia — Miss  Chubb,"  he  said,  "permit  me  to 
present  to  you  the  girl  who  two  nights  ago  made 
me  supremely  happy  by  the  avowal  of  her  love  for 
me— my  future  wife,  Agnes  Merrihew!" 


358       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

I/ENVOI 

The  Armytage  Co-operative  Printing  Press  Com- 
pany is  no  more.  It  has  been  swallowed  up  in  the 
rapacious  maw  of  the  United  States  Printing  Press 
Company,  of  which  Silas  Chubb,  in  his  eighties  now, 
is  still  president.  He  is  said  to  be  worth  at  least  two 
hundred  million  dollars,  and  is  still  making  money. 

It  was  a  very  modest  wedding  which  celebrated 
the  nuptials  of  Harold  and  Agnes,  so  different, 
everybody  said,  from  the  grand  function  when 
Gladys  married  the  Marquis ;  but,  then,  it  has  turned 
out  entirely  different,  too.  They  are  indeed  supreme- 
ly happy  in  their  modest  apartment  in  an  unfashion- 
able flat.  The  Fifth  Avenue  house  went  in  the  gen- 
eral wreck,  but  Harold  saved  a  few  thousands,  with 
the  income  of  which,  and  by  his  own  earnings  as  a 
writer  and  lecturer  on  economic  subjects,  they  sup- 
port themselves  fairly  well,  and  are  raising  a  fine 
lot  of  children.  Agnes  still  writes  poems,  but  they 
are  cheerful  ones,  because  the  song-birds  of  joy  are 
caroling  in  her  heart. 

Six  months  after  her  brother's  marriage,  Gladys 
gave  her  hand  and,  this  time,  her  heart  to  the  Hun- 


359 

garian  violinist.  Mme.  Czerny,  as  she  is  called,  ac- 
companies her  husband  on  all  his  tours,  and  their 
devotion  to  each  other  is  one  of  the  marvels  of  the 
theatrical  and  musical  professions. 

Mrs.  Van  has  cut  her  and  Harold's  acquaintance. 
She  has  no  use,  she  said,  for  poor  relations.  She  and 
Alicia  became  great  chums,  for  the  latter  seemed 
bent  on  only  one  object — to  get  rid  of  her  fortune 
as  fast  as  she  could  dissipate  it.  That  was  the  kind 
of  task  in  which  Mrs.  Van  liked  to  assist — and  she 
was  with  her  when  sudden  death  came  after  a  night 
of  debauch  in  Monte  Carlo. 

The  Marquis  de  Belle-Riviere  married  a  second 
time,  again  an  American,  this  time  the  daughter  of 
a  millionaire  Chicago  pork-packer.  The  Duke  man- 
aged to  spend  some  of  her  millions  in  rebuilding  the 
never  completed  chateau  on  the  Rhone  and  to  kiss 
an  heir  to  his  name  and  title  before  he  died,  verging 
on  ninety  years.  Thus  the  Marquis  became  a  Duke, 
and  his  Duchess  is  a  popular  favorite  in  Paris,  where 
her  unconventionality  and  awkwardness  are  good- 
naturedly  laughed  at. 

Jack  McQuillan,  after  all,  cheated  the  electric 
chair.  Through  Harold's  efforts  the  death  sentence 


360       THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

was  commuted  by  the  governor  to  imprisonment 
for  life.  But  he  failed  in  health  from  the  moment 
he  entered  Sing  Sing ;  and  the  once  powerful  form 
became  reduced  to  skeleton  proportions  and  to  the 
feebleness  of  a  child.  When  the  governor's  decree 
was  put  in  his  hands,  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  mur- 
mured the  name  "Maggie,"  and  died  with  a  smile 
on  his  emaciated  face. 

On  the  occasion  of  Gladys'  wedding  to  Czerny,  the 
bride  playfully  reminded  Agnes  of  that  time  when 
the  latter  first  met  Harold,  and  Gladys  had  quoted 
some  poetry. 

"I  remember,"  declared  Harold,  folding  his  wife 
in  his  arms;  "it  was  the  opening  stanza  of  'The 
Heart  of  the  People.'  Come,  Agnes,  give  us  the 
closing  one,  now." 

With  a  blush  Agnes  recited : 

"  'The  heart  of  the  people,  oh,  fill  it  with  love, 
The  love  that's  the  essence  of  God  up  above; 
Then  with  joy  it  will  throb,  your  heart  and  mine, 
With  joy  that's  eternal,  celestial,  divine.' ' 

THE    END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  038  356     2 


